Light Upon the Shadows of Death
by Cyrin-Dara
Summary: *CHAP 7 UPDATE* This story is basically another side of the LOTR trilogy (starting midway in book 2 though), seen through the eyes of Cilanthiel Wenilya (or Cyrinel), who is by some twist of fate, a part of the War of the Ring. Please R/R!
1. Misfortunes Outnumber Hopes

1 Light Upon the Shadows of Death  
  
  
  
Hello readers (if there are any). I am or rather I have just become a LOTR fan so I started this fanfic about well, Middle Earth. It's nothing about Frodo and the ring and how it got to Mordor and stuff like that. It's basically another side of the story, based on the strange life of Cilanthiel and her experiences with the War of the Ring and Sauron. This chapter's quite short because it's just kind of just a start and background to begin it all. The Eryn Fernathlië (WinterLost forests) is a place I made up near Mirkwood and Lorien, by the way. So, please read and review! Thanks   
  
  
  
1.1 Misfortunes Outnumber Hopes  
  
  
  
The loud splattering rain outside, disrupted now and then by the monstrous bolt of lightning that peirced the heavy night sky, sounded, never-tiring through the before dry but now moist, Wilderlands on this dreary moon-less eve. Two crouching figures nevertheless sprinted up the slippery rocks, over the flooding streams, and beneath the shapeless shadow of the leaf- less trees, heedless of the storm around them.  
  
"Is Cilanthiel alright?" one of the figures whispered to the other between breathless pants, slowing down his pace to peer over the small bundle the latter carried. This voice belonged to a young man with a blaze in his gray-ish blue eyes and a kingly manner about his fair face. Danéthil, they liked to call him back in the land of Gondor, though he holds royal blood, from the long-gone Numeronean kings.  
  
"Worry not Danéthil, she sleeps on like there is no trouble" the soft voice of a fair-haired, green-eyed lady rang out like a song from beneath the cloak that hid her beautiful face.  
  
"That is of great comfort Jenaya, we must make haste before the Orcs are fresh on our trail." He quicked his pace once again.  
  
"Luinnath nevalin ú estel cheb v'anim, Misfortunes outnumber the hopes I have in myself" Jenaya said sadly, falling into her own elven-tongue. She grasped the bundle of cloak tightly as she ran on with weary feet. They hurried on in the noisy yet silent darkness. The Wilderland, slowly passed in a blur of dull colors and they reached the west edge of Mirkwood.  
  
"Ai, it is good to recognize the fresh scent of Eryn Lasgalen, even in the rain." Jenaya said, heart slightly less heavy. She suddenly paused and looked around, peering through the darkness, keen elven eyes trying to peirce the night. "It is too silent. Do the elves know not that we are come?"  
  
Danéthil looked at the star-less sky and said, "Dark are the days, and messages are apt to be intercepted."  
  
"But surely Galadriel knows?" his wife pressed on worridley.  
  
"She may, she may not, but she is least likely in Lorien at this time."  
  
Jenaya said no more and continued on their way. When midnight passed and still no moon shone out from the columbustious black clouds, the couple came suddenly to a stop by a small faded bridge over a rippling stream, where Elven-Children used to play, but now is left alone and forgotten.  
  
"What is the matter Jenaya? Why did you stop?" Danéthil asked in an urgent but concerned voice. He studied his wife's wet and forlong face and saw that it was troubled. But which face was not troubled in those days?  
  
"They are coming Danéthil." She replied, and her green eyes met his blue ones. "I hear them. Orcs, less than 100 leagues away, accompanied by the Riders. They have business in Rhovanion, and finding us here would only increase their pleasure."  
  
Danéthil made no reply immediately, but took the bundle from his wife's arms and wrapped it beneath his elven-cloak. Finally, he turned to her. "Jenaya, we must hurry. We can still make it to Ford of Mirkwood." They took off once again. Shouts could now be heard behind them, and the distuishable language of the Orcs floated like a horde of unwelcome bees past Jenaya's keen ears. They ran on, darting behind the few rocks and trees, not having the time to look back to see whether they were pursued or not. But suddenly, Jenaya gave a soft cry. Her light, elven feet had given away and her left foot was wedged painfully between two roots, outgrown and branching out onto the open path. She stumbled and fell, but nevertheless trying to pry herself away—she was out in the open with no trees to hide her, only the darkness that would soon be peirced by the cursed fire light of the orcs. Danéthil stopped in his tracks and hurried back to his wife. The noises behind them grew.  
  
"Nal'enn Danéthil!" she cried, blood gushing freely from her burdensome feet. "Go with Cilanthiel, nal'enn!"  
  
"Vin, if we are doomed to die then it must be with the both of us." He replied, face showing no sign of fear in the dark. Yet, tears leaked slowly out of Jenaya's eyes as she unclasped from her neck a beautiful silver chain, a small, bright and carefully-carved pendant hanging from it. She hung it around the baby's neck.  
  
"Hide her amongst the trees now Danéthil, that is where I put my trust to most." She said, wiping her wet face with a torn sleeve. Danéthil carried the bundle to a grand birch tree quickly and placed it on the damp ground beneath it, removing his cloak to shield the baby from rain. He gazed at it for a moment, as it lay there peacefully, not paying attention to the troubled world around them. Sighing sadly, he hurried back to his wife and drew out his sword along the way. The sounds drew closer, evil fire light was shimmering through the leaves. He stood up straight, valiant and tall.  
  
"Silivren-anim, Danéthil." Jenaya whispered. "I am sorry."  
  
"Silivren-anim yinal" Danéthil retured, eyes fixed in the direction of his doom, fate settled, death arranged.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
A tall, eldery witch walked into a splendid hall in the City of Trees, carrying a basket and accompanied by two very grave-looking elves. Grendalin she was called, the forgotten sister of Gandalf Stormcrow, and she always seemed to bring about unexpected news to different lands around Middle Earth. Grendalin lived alone in the woods of Lothlorien and was only comissioned there by leave of Galadriel—and that was whom she intended to see that particular day. The Elves led her into a very high and magnificent chamber, full of beautiful elven-carvings on the pale marble walls and the great pillars. At the far end, accompanied by her elven ladies-in-waiting brushing her long, golden hair, was Galadriel Evenstar. She looked up slowly from her sheet of wavy locks, blue eyes full of the wisdom of the years.  
  
"Good morning Grendalin." She said, and her voice rang out like a silver ripple through the chamber.  
  
"Greetings to you, Lady Galadriel." Grendalin returned, bending her old waist slightly. "I, er, would like to speak to you alone….if I may."  
  
"Westa limath," Galadriel said lightly to her servants and the two elves next to the witch, who gave Grendalin a bit of a warning look before departing. "Sit my friend and begin your tale."  
  
"I thank you but I prefer to stand at this moment now."  
  
"Very well then, begin."  
  
Grendalin sighed before starting. "Yestereve, on my way past the borders of MirkWood, I came upon this child." She opened the basket and behold! There lay Cilanthiel, still peacefully sound-asleep. Galadriel made no comment but nodded slowly at the sight of the baby. Grendalin continued. "She was hidden away beneath a bush under a large birch tree and I would have passed save I heard gentle cries. Not many yards before her, I came upon ashes—orc ashes, torches with burned out fire and a few slewn orc bodies. On the ground beside those was this," She drew out a long and strangely bright sword, long-forgotten characters written on the beautiful silver handle. Galadriel looked at it with piercing eyes and nodded once again, in much understanding. Grendalin put it away, watching the elf-lady's face very carefully. "Also, on the baby girl, there is a silver necklace which you should recognize at first sight. That was all I found but somehow they shoud all relate to one another in some way, lest I am wrong and is come here in vain."  
  
Galadriel made no reply immediately but held Grendalin long in her piercing gaze. She walked forward a few steps and lifted the baby out of the basket with care, caressing her in her arms.  
  
"This is no ordinary child Grendalin, though I am certain you thought not so before." She said grimly. "I know you are guessing who it is and I see no need to rectify you. It is indeed Cilanthiel Runadenn, daughter of Danéthil and Jenaya."  
  
"Poor child…." Grendalin murmured, eyes fixed on the baby. "But what shall we do with her? How did her parents die?" Galadriel gave a soft, sad sigh and placed her back inside the basket.  
  
"It is unwise to keep her here in the Lothlorién. She will draw attention unecissarily and too much revealed is fatal to her. Cilanthiel should not know about anything yet. Keep the necklace and the sword and anything else. She will stay with you in the deep woods of Eryn Fernathlië (WinterLost forests) where no elves or any man who walk on Middle-earth shall pass and there you will train her everything she needs to know. I will send guards to keep watch hidden amongst the trees, so worry not on protection. Do not utter her name to anyone, address her in a new name. I hope you are willing Grendalin because you are the only person trust and see fit for this duty."  
  
"I will be obliged to do so my Lady." Grendalin said, this time bowing deeper. Galadriel smiled a happy, yet full of sadness smile that brought both and joy into the witch's heart.  
  
"Each in his own time Grendalin." Galadriel said softly. "She shall know one day, she shall come to understand."  
  
Long afterwards that day, some said everything was a coincidence, most said it was simply fate the led them. But whether it was coincidence or fate, the destiny of a young girl was clearly planned out long before the witch and Cilanthiel took of together down the winding road out of the place of Galadriel and into the forests of Lothlorién.  
  
  
  
Okay so I end the first chapter here. It's a bit sudden I know, the beginning and the end of this chap. But that's as short/long as I'd like it to be, not going TOO much into the detail (most of it I'm planning ot reveal later on in the story) and not leaving readers TOO clueless. If you're wondering why orcs were on the trail of Cilanthiel's parents, you'll find out sooner or later, though I'm still deciding whether I should continue or not. Please review and tell me! ^_^ 


	2. Unexpected Encounter

1 Chapter 2 - Unexpected Encounter  
  
  
  
A/N – okay, * looks round expectedly * Is anyone still with me? Oh well, if you are then I just wanted to say that you CANNOT miss this chapter because Cilanthiel has grown up, she learns the truth, she meets Gollum, and things DO happen. So enough rambling, just make sure you R/R!   
  
  
  
"Cirë, Cirélla, We'cirë." Cyrinel(meaning "Spirited") Wenilya recited carefully. Back against a large oak tree, a heavy book propped up against her knees, she went through the words one more time. Cyrinel Wenilya of course, was really Cilanthiel Runadenn, once a baby who Grendalin had brought into the Eryn Fernathlië for caring, now a tall young 14 year old girl with black hair and bright, blue-green eyes. She shut the large, leaf- binded book and blew her bangs from her forehead, sighing light-heartedly.  
  
"Grendalin, I've memorized all the plural and singlular indefinite, and plural and singular definite articles of Quenya already!" the young girl called, clear half-elven voice ringing through the trees and into the small hut, perched atop a small hill with a winding road that led up to it, and a small stream that flowed out in front. There was nothing at all special about that particular dwelling of Cyrinel and Grendalin save perhaps the ideal location: amidst the heart of the forest where the amplest of trees grew. Galadriel had ordered the elves who built it to make it look as plain and unsuspecting as possible. But one who sprang up the smooth steps to the hut, and heard the stream almost singing as it flowed lightly into the large river, would surely feel the beauty of skillful elven-craft displayed upon the would-be ordinary house. It had a natural aura about it, as if it was a creation of the earth, and the trees and the sky itself. And that was why Cyrinel loved it there. It was in that place that she had been brought up to learn Elven-literature, sword-fighting, archery, and every other thing Grendalin thought fit to educate her with. She did wonder of course, how she came to live at such a place, why they were so seluded, and who she really was, but such thoughts were clearly gone from her mind, as she leapt swiftly over the stream and up the stone steps of the hill, into the house.  
  
"Grendalin! Are you there?" she called again, opening the unlocked door with ease and striding into the well-lit and comfortable room. From the inside, almost everything was visible outside: from the thick and tall trees in the forest around them, to the distant and faded mountains in the East; there were much windows in the small chamber, letting sunlight stream through, lighting the bright room.  
  
"Don't nag girl!" the deep and wizened voice of Grendalin replied, somewhere from above. "I'm in the Library." Cyrinel hurried up the narrow flight of stairs that wound around a slender birch tree (that shot straight up through the house) and ran into the 'library'. Grendalin looked up from a dusty pile of old books, once she entered. She seemed to look weary on this day, Cyrinel noticed along with a look of ambivalence on her aged face.  
  
"I've finished memorizing Aunt Grendalin." Cyrinel said, tone changing from cheeriness to uncertainity.  
  
"Good, good my dear." The witch said distractedley. "I have matters to deal with right now so you may go exploring if you like." Cyrinel would have said 'yes' immediately if she hadn't noticed anything odd with the old witch, for Grendalin almost never let her go beyond the 2nd line of trees from their cottage and the reason was almost never known to her. However, given this lucky chance of adventure (which Cyrinel dearly loved to have), she hesitated before saying,  
  
"Are you sure? I mean, you look rather tired to me and I could make supper and you rest…." This time Grendalin smiled, making her old features quite beautiful, and though her smile was slightly forced, it comforted Cyrinel by a good deal.  
  
"I am okay Cilanthiel, you may go exploring today, but not further than the Leafless Beeches" she said kindly. Cyrinel, paused as she reached the entrance and turned back.  
  
"Wait—what have you called me?" she asked curiously.  
  
Grendalin laughed before saying, "It is about time you have learnt your own name." A strange twinkle came into her gray eyes. "Go, hurry on now and more shall be revealed to you later!" So Cyrinel left, light-hearted mood disrupted by the strange behavior of one she knew so well, one she had spent her entire childhood with, one who had called her by her 'real' name. What was it again? She thought. *Cilanthiel *, the wind whispered in reply. It was beautiful yes, but foreign— a simple string of syllables that meant nothing to her….or perhaps it was simply because she did not understand—yet.  
  
Mind all of a sudden filled with all sorts of questions, Cyrinel left the house warily and was in a while, surrounded by towering trees again. The sun started to set, casting a faint golden ray atop the canopies, and the first few stars popped out. And still, she ran through the forest, for no purpose but to drive thoughts out of her head—thoughts that she knew would make her miserable. Swinging nimbly from elm, to oak, to maple, Cyrinel stopped all of a sudden at a branch of a huge sycamore, and listened intently. A soft rustling reached her keen ears and an occasional hissing sound. She peered through the bushes and saw a low, crouching figure moving stealthily through in what seemed to her, to be on all fours. Carrying no other weapon but a small dagger, she straightened slowly and drew it out from her right elven-made boot, and jumped lightly from the tree, making no sound as she landed.  
  
Cyrinel stalked the creature for a while, dodging from tree to tree, to hide herself. But after some time, the rustlings stopped without warning and was replaced by a loud sniffing sound. Cyrinel, behind a particularly large tree root stopped in her tracks and frowned. The sniffing was dishearting and it seemed like whatever it was, was trying to smell her out.  
  
"Someone is here, my precioussss…." It whispered venemously. Cyinel's heart skipped; the creature was speaking the Common Tongue. "Sneaking yesss, sneaking for innocent Sméagol." A sound like "gollum" followed, sickening Cyrinel to the bone, but nevertheless, she grabbed the chance and jumped from behind the tree root and grabbed the 'creature' by its mangled and dirty hair, holding it up painfully.  
  
The "Creature" she saw was more human than animal, though the resemblence was horrifying. It had pale mottled skin with ribs sticking out and large pale, luminous eyes. The minute, Cyrinel got hold of it, it screamed and writhed and twisted, trying to escape.  
  
"Let good Sméagol go!" It screamed, half angry, half whimpering in pain. Cyrinel, out of her shock by now, held on firmly, though she almost felt sorry for the poor thing.  
  
"What business have you here?" she demanded in the Common Tongue, directing her dagger point to its feeble throat. "Who are you?" At the second question, the creature stopped writhing and a look came upon his greedy face that Cyrinel thought was a mix between wonder and careful planning.  
  
"You do not knowssss poor Sméagol? Bad, evil girl! Sméagol isss friend of Elvessss and he isss needing to take the ring, they hasss borrowed. He isss only walking. It issss not girlsss busssiness to mind poor Sméagol." He grinned wickedly. "Let Sméagol go!"  
  
"No, not until I get what I want to know." Cyrinel retured, still not about to be deceived. "What is this ring?" She let go of his hair but her dagger was still in place.  
  
"It issss not girlssss busssinesss to knowsss, iss it not my preciousss?" Sméagol said, half to her, half to himself. "You will let Sméagol go, he will tell you more…"  
  
"Speak." She said firmly. She put away the dagger slowly, watching his every movement. He did not stir for a moment, but without warning, he turned his ugly head and bit her hard on the hand, taking the chance to run away amongst the deep trees again. Cyrinel cursed in frustration, and threw her dagger his direction. A small yelp was heard but no more afterwards. The sun had already gone done, its last rays shining faintly in pursuit of lighting the star-filled sky and with the last cry of the hawk in the distance, Twilight faded into night. She had already gone leagues past the Leafless Birches and she was weary. Collecting her fresh thoughts, stirred anew by the strange "Gollum" creature, Cyrinel ran home with weary feet.  
  
  
  
A/N – Ooh another Author's Note. Sorry but I just wanted to say that this chapter might be short, but the story is unfolding little by little and readers would know MUCH more in Chapter 3, believe me. Thanks for reviewing! 


	3. One Question, Too Many Answers

Chapter 3 – One Question, Too Many Answers  
  
Authors note: third chapter up! The meeting with Gollum on the 2nd chap, was an accident (with Cyrinel of course, not me) because gollum was actually in pursuit of the Fellowship during that time (well, close enough I think). Oh and Cyrinel is NOT going to be joining the fellowship, by the way (that's not what the story is going to be like) In this chapter, you will obviously get to know more on Cyrinel's past and most crucially, information on her parents, though more will be revealed further on in the story. Well, I won't bore you all with my AN's. R/R!  
  
  
  
Cyrinel burst out of the shadows of the forest and into the lines of trees surrounding her cottage, heart beating rapidly, knees shaking slightly. Night had fallen completely, save the few faded stars that have not yet shone from beneath the columbustious black clouds ; the moon still in its cresent and small shape. She came to a halt suddenly by a large pine, a sound of soft hoofs reaching her ears. She had never yet owned a real horse, save seeing it in the leafy pages of Storybooks Grendalin somehow managed to provide and occassionally petting some of the steeds owned by 'Men Beyond Hither'. They often came by to stop by to talk to the old witch for some purpose unknown to Cyrinel. On this particular moment, she did not know whether to advance forward and present herself openly like a child, or to hold her patience and wait. She instincts warned her of the first, thus she chanced a few steps closer, hidden by the shadows of the night, reaching the last tree from the house—only yards away from the stone steps. She climed up the sinuos vines and branches to the highest and closest point possible and peered out of the needle-like leaves, only just managing to see the dirty trail emerging from the opposite end of the forest, parting the thick trees on both sides. She squinted through the night, trying to pierce the darkness lighted only by the faint silver starlight, her ears pricked up at the sound of galloping, ever increasing. The bent and distinguishable form of Grendalin swam into view, as she carried a glowing lamp outside. 'What is going on ?' Cyrinel thought to herself, half-annoyedly, half out of pure curiousity ; why were all these strange things happening all at once ? When would she be able to get a clear and thorough understanding of the things she wished to know ? She wondered.  
  
Finally, from the winding path of the forest there rode forward, like a lone shooting star on a cloudless night, a magnificently white horse, strong and swift, silver mane billowing in the wind like a thousand strands of pure silver ; and upon it sat a tall elf, long haired and cloaked in elven-gray—looking very bright and beautiful, Cyrinel thought as she gazed in silent wonder on him and his horse, shooting like an arrow past, but halting suddenly by the door. It was only then, that she jerked back into reality. She climbed a few feet forward on the large branch, and listened. The elf dismounted quickly and took from beneath his cloak a scroll—a letter, it seemed to Cyrinel. Grendalin was there too, frowning slightly in the dim moonlight as he handed it to her with a respectful bow. Cyrinel crawled forward a bit more.  
  
"The Queen of the Woods, Lady Galadriel wishes you well, along with this letter." she heard the elf say politely to Grendalin, in Elven-tongue. The witch made no comment but a brief nod, unrolled the scroll and began reading through it. Cyrinel could see her eyes roving over the leafy paper left and right quickly, nodding along some lines, frowning slightly upon others. She edged closer—a large pine cone whipped out from nowhere, hitting her square on the forehead. Cursing bitterly, she wobbled choking on some leaves, and –losing her balance, she fell roughly from the branch and landed quite lightly on the grassy ground beneath it. Pine needles rained down after her.  
  
"Cyrinel !" Grendalin exclaimed, expression a mixture between angry, annoyed, surprised, and amused.  "Why are you here—and at such a late hour!" The elf however, wore a puzzled look and glanced from Grendalin to Cyrinel, cluelessly.  
  
Cyrinel got up, brushed herself off, and cast them both a calculating look before saying,  
  
"You told me to go exploring, I did go, and now I'd like some answers as to why * he's * here." She indicated the elf with a rough gesture and strode forward, half expecting to be scolded for irrational and disrespectful behavior in front of guests. Grendalin though, showed no sign of immediate fury, but a sigh along with a sad shake of her head.  
  
"Nim wanéth-alenn," the elf-messenger said, taking this tacit cue and mounting his beautiful horse. "Noro Ali, Vilyanath!" Half a moment later, his steed had borne him back into the shadowy depths of Eryn Fernathlië; a swift arrow soaring through a windless sky. The moon now revealed her shining white face and waned out from beneath the slowly parting clouds, lighting the night with her pale silver glow.  
  
"Let us go in now Cilanthiel." Grendalin said to Cyrinel, holding her lamp up and heading back to the house. Overlooking, or rather ignoring the mention of the "real name", Cyrinel did not move an inch and said in a clear voice, "You will tell me now, whatever you are obviously trying to hide. If there's anything needed to be said, which likliest of all there * is *, you will tell me outside where air is fresh and nature is about." Grendalin sighed and shook her head slowly once more, and dissappeared into the small cottage. Whether it was by instinct, or whether it was by the knowledge of so many years accquaintance with her, Cyrinel did not follow, somehow knowing that the witch would come back. And so she did; after a few moments, Grendalin returned, carrying a long, sheathed sword. Cyrinel stared at the first object, feeling a painful tug from somewhere inside of her, but controlling her curiosity and waiting until the witch spoke.  
  
"Come with me Cilanthiel," she said. Cyrinel followed her back into the woods, however on the other side of the cottage, and down a small rocky passage that she had strolled down oh so many times before. Together, they walked in suppressed silence, deeper into the forest where the trees Cyrinel knew so well in the morning towered menacingly above them and the normal sounds of small birds and bugs maginified ten times louder to her half-elven senses. However, these would have really bothered Cyrinel if she hadn't been so preoccupied in her thoughts, so caught up in controlling her sharp tongue. Finally, they rounded a sharp curve and the trees suddenly gave way to a large river, flowing steadily northwards, the large moon reflected upon its smooth, still surface. Here Grendalin stopped (Cyrinel pausing with her) and gazed far away into the night, as if trying to pierce the darkness in search of some long lost memory. Cyrinel went up to her, not knowing when else it would be suitable to open her mouth—or perhaps it was the cool, impatient breeze of the night that urged her onward for answers.  
  
"Aunt Grendalin—" she began in a firm voice, but broke off along midsentence in sudden realization that she was not mad anymore at the old witch—not mad, just lost— lost in reality's game of hide and seek. She transferred her eyes from the ground to the river, and followed the Grendalin's gaze. "Are you upset at me?" she continued. "I don't know how to put this, but maybe if I said I was running blindly along life's labyrinth, unaware of the obstacles around me—then you would understand…."  
  
"Life does not have obstacles Cilanthiel." Grendalin finally said, turning her head and looking Cyrinel right in the eye. They're eyes met and a sudden, tacit understanding of each other's troubles was made. "There is only what is true, what is false, what you may never know, and what you have yet to understand."  
  
"What is true then?" Cyrinel asked softly, picking up a small stone and staring at it. "What is so true about me?"  
  
"I am sorry Cilanthiel, to have hidden it from you this many years, but you will understand that it was only for the good of you." Grendalin sat down slowly on a flat rock and bid Cyrinel to sit as well. She sat down cross- legged on the ground. "This is very hard for me, I hope you understand. Revealing an intricate history is very difficult, especially as it is one belonging to you. First of all, your full name is Cilanthiel Vilwa Runadenn." Cyrinel held her tongue at this news, wanting to hear more before she commented. The witch continued. "Your father was Danéthil Runadenn, one of the descendents of the long-gone Numeroneán kings. Your mother was Jenaya Vilwa, daughter of Avanel Vilwa and Lylin Vilwa, both very important High-Elves of their time. Danéthil and Jenaya possessed a palantir, Cilanthiel."  
  
"What is that?" Cyrinel asked.  
  
"It is one of the very rare palantirs, passed down from the treasury of Elendil. I have not seen one, and little are there now in Middle-Earth. The traitor Saruman, as you have heard mentioned by me so many times before, wanted the palantirs for some small purpose. One is with Saruman the Traitor, the other was unknown to many. You Cilanthiel was born on a very bad timing, June 7th 3021 near the time when Gollum escaped, and the exact time when Saruman sent orcs after your father and mother, in pursuit of the "Hidden Palatir". Things were indeed complicated then, the Palantir being handed from one person to another for safe-keeping. Saruman nevertheless sent a troop of orcs after them and they planned to escape to the Lorién under protection of Galadriel, but they never made it…. Your father died a noble death, Cilanthiel."  
  
Cyrinel remained mute, torn between sudden understanding, horrible realization, and a very painful kind of sadness. She kept her blue-green eyes on the small stone she had picked up, turning it in with her fingers. A million questions buzzed inside her already full head: who is Gollum? Who is Galadriel? What * really * can a Palantir do? These passed her mind in a cold wave of desire for more answers. However, she decided that she had known what she had to know and the story would eventually unravel.  
  
"Cilanthiel, I know this is very sudden but do you understand now why we had to keep you isolated? I am sorry, I say it again." Grendalin sighed and her gray eyes looked weary and old—yet full of strange wisdom. Cyrinel murmured something undistinguishable and threw the stone in the river, breaking its vast stillness by the growing ringlets. After a few silent moments, broken only by the soft whispers of the chilly wind, Grendalin unsheathed the sword she had been bearing and it glittered brightly in the night, sharp, swift, and unrusted. Cyrinel looked up, and upon seeing the sword, her heart lightened a hope and happiness stirred up inside of her.  
  
"Was that my father's?" she asked quietly, though staring at it in keen interest.  
  
"Indeed it was," replied Grendalin gravely. "But now it is yours. It is called the Cerilann" She handed it carefully to Cyrinel and the blade flashed. It was neither heavy nor jewel-encrusted as most swords were at that time, but was light and had only a carefully carved letter "R" for "Runadenn" in Numeronean on its beautiful handle, along with intricate silver designs. As soon as she touched the slender golden handle, she felt a warmth flooding into herself, spreading slowly until her whole body was filled with life, energy and strength. She swished a little, just to let her feelings off and walked back to Grendalin.  
  
"Thank you very much." She said sincerely, sheathing the sword.  
  
"Don't thank me just yet Cilanthiel. You still have this." With that, Grendalin reached into her long gray gray cloak and took out a small green pouch. She placed it in Cyrinel's palm. Cyrinel opened it curiously, wondering what other surprises the night bade her, and in turn, took out a long, silvery-white necklace, light and beautiful.  
  
"This was your mother's; it is the necklace of Janéthalya Vilwa the Fair of the Old Days and passed down generation after generation in the family. It is made out of Mithril, the rarest jewel there ever was in Middle Earth. You are its descendant so it is rightfully yours. Everyone recognizes that necklace as sign of nobility and power and friendship, so treasure it well." Cyrinel held it in her hand, and although she did not know what 'Mithril' was, having never heard of it, she treasured the strange, natural beauty more than its worth.  
  
"I do not know what to say…." She said, and fastened the necklace around her neck, feeling rather staggered, but happy all the while, by the immensity and richness of what she bore. The wind sang and whistled, the trees danced and swayed, looking menacing no longer in the night.  
  
"You need not say a thing, my dear." Grendalin said, smiling. "What is said is said, the truth has been told, others shall wait. In a few days, we will be heading for Lothlorien once more to meet Lady Galadriel."  
  
Cyrinel nodded and for the remainder of the night, she asked questions, got answers without further hesitation; talked on and on, until the moon travelled slowly West and the last star disappeared— that night had indeed been a satisfying one.  
  
A/N: That's it. The history of Cilanthiel is still unraveling itself, so this isn't it yet (though I do hope it is getting interesting). Those who are wondering about the "Hidden Palantir", I'm still doing research on it (on the books) so hopefully I'll be able to make it more clear and precise. Thanks for your reviews! : ) 


	4. Journey Back to Lothlorien

Chapter 4 - Journy Back To Lorién  
  
A/N- I just wanted to say here, thank you very much for the reviews, they are very encouraging (however little they are) and ideas and suggestions would also be very helpful. Thanks!  
  
Cyrinel did not sleep well that night—nor for many nights after. The days seemed no longer happy and carefree as she had felt when she had been younger and ignorant, being educated on simple things like elven-lore and literature and arts of defense as well. Now that she finally came to understand things, she did not feel relieved at all—relieved from the pain that she knew she would have to meet eventually. Indeed, she felt as though something had filled the empty space in her heart, but that something was devouring everything else inside of her, causing all her thoughts to bend unwillingly towards it.  
  
So with Grendalin having little time to spare teaching her lessons, the days grew long and tiring, and uneventful hours passed slowly, filling Cyrinel's mind with thoughts of the world outside, and an occassional pang of loneliness. The only time of peace was when she walked through the forest and heard the voices of the wind, the sighing of the trees, singing their soft, wordless melodies that soothed her heavy heart.  
  
But Cyrinel had also noticed the fast change over Grendalin; her face seemed old, weary and troubled, her eyes refused to give her intelligent sparkle, her hoary gray, braided hair was down in loose fringes and the bags beneath her eyes revealed devoid of sleep.  
  
"Dark Days these are Cyrinel. We are ignorant of what is coming at us and what is already come. The Ring has gone into unable hands, but it was fate that has decided and we cannot alter that. All we can do and hope for now is wait—wait for the worst or for plain luck." She had said when being questioned on her wariness.  
  
"When do we see Galadriel then?" Cyrinel had asked, avoiding the subject, not wanting to be dragged down by the gloom that hung over her.  
  
"Soon…but not soon enough I deem…I have business to attend to in the South and I shall leave in a few days time."  
  
"May I come with you?"  
  
"No Cilanthiel. Dark are the days, and one who is ignorant of dangers all around is apt to be caught in her own trap. While I am away, I bid you not to venture into the forest any longer. Stay inside the cottage and do not open the doors to anyone, save Elven-folks. Supplies are ample so do not go out unecissarily. And if anyone comes to pick you up by Galadriel's permission, you may go with them, but leave everything else, save the sword and the necklace."  
  
So with only those strange messages of warning, she left. Alone and on foot. Cyrinel wondered how she would sustain through the days, but her doubts faltered upon remembering that the old witch often had unexpected ways of doing things. She also wondered when she would fully understand everything around her. The Ring, the War that was to happen, Grendalin had forsighted, the Dark Lord Sauron, and everything else that she had failed to mention. The witche's leave allowed her time to continue pondering over the things she knew and the things she wanted to know.  
  
On the 11th day, Cyrinel grew anxious, clouds of doubt began forming inside her heart and it grew streadily heavier. She worried about Grendalin's safety and minded only little of her own, though she was aware of how great it was. She had stayed best as possible in the house, flipping through the witch's old books (hoping to find something that would suffice her curiousity) and going out only a few times to wash her face and catch the fresh air. She had kept the Necklace and the Sword hidden away, as she knew Grendalin would have approved of. But twice, in the silence of the night, she had heard a distant cry: not like any bird she had seen or heard, not like any living creature she recognized on Middle-Earth. She did not know what it was, but it was a horrible sound that roused her sense of fright and insecurity and filled her mind with disturbing thoughts.  
  
But on the morning of the twelfth day, echos of light galloping from the trees reached Cyrinel's ears. Halfway through washing her face by the clear stream, she stood up quickly, remembering Grendalin's warnings, and retreated hurridely to the cottage. Unlatching the door, she let herself in and dashed up to her room, retrieving her sword and necklace, before heading down again and peering outside through the closed window. She put on the sheath, pocketed the necklace, and watched. A moment later, two horses leaped out from beneath the forest, bearing two elven-riders, similar the one she had seen the other day. The brightness of their garments and their long golden air flying with the speed of their steeds, was highly relieving to Cyrinel, who's fears vanished in an instant upon seeing them. All the same, she kept watch quietly, until they reached the grassy area in front of the stream. There, they dismounted, and Cyrinel saw that one elf was male and the other was female. They both held a unearthly glow and their beautiful elven features were full of nobility and wisdom. They marched up the stone steps to the cottage and Cyrinel heard a sharp rap on the wooden door.  
  
"Cyrinel, by leave of Grendalin and Galadriel, we have come hither to bear you to Lorién." The male said in a clear voice. 'He did not call me by my real name….' She thought, carefully and cautiously opened the door. Both elves lowered their heads politely and Cyrinel did the same.  
  
" * Caerín *, I am Felronn son of Farlion and serves as a messenger in the City of the Trees." He said, bowing, then turning to the other. "This is Fyaronë, my sister who has come hither along with me to as we are told." She lowered her head again, with a kind smile. "We have come from Lorién on the orders of Lady Galadriel, and we are to bring you back thither."  
  
"I am glad you have come but is there no news of Grendalin?" Cyrinel asked, locking the door behind them, as they walked down the stone steps. Troubled expressions came upon the elves' fair faces and they did not reply after a while.  
  
"Lady Galadriel did not reveal much to us," Fyaronë said. "But by what we know, she is now somewhere near the land of Anorien by now and has met with what is left of the Company along the way."  
  
"The Fellowship of the Ring?" Cyrinel asked immediately and unwisely. They had come to a stop by the two magnificent horses who were contentedly taking the time off to fill their stomachs with grass.  
  
"The remainder of it, my dear friend." Felronn said and the elves eyed one other. "Here, you will ride Cirwan with Fyaronë, for she is a strong mare and can bear 2 light elves for a long way. I will ride Hirvan." He helped Cyrinel and his sister onto the white horse, before climbing himself onto the greyish one. "We will ride North-East for less than 5, 000 leagues to Lorién."  
  
"Hold on Cilanthiel," Fyaronë said gently to her, as the mare started with a light trot. "She is a swift rider. Noro vali, Cirwan!" The horse heeded the soft command, tossed her magnificent head and sprinted into the Western Eryn Fernathlië, with Hirvan following swiftly behind. Cyrinel had never yet been on a horse and was astonished at the quick speed, though not afraid. She liked the unchanging rhythm of hoofs on leaf-fallen ground, and the soft breeze that blew into her face and played with her hair, as the trees flashed by in a blur of green shadowy shapes. Above the dull 'thudaddy-thud' of the hooves, she could hear the clear, distinct sounds of nature: the awakening chirps of birds, the tell-tale rustles of leaves, the scuttles of small animals scurrying here and there in search of breakfast to start off the morning, and the undying whistling of the whispering wind through the trees. They rode on swiftly through the woods, the rising sun now shining at their left, raining down in golden streaks through the trees on their sides, providing them lasting warmth.  
  
"We must cross the Gladden Fields hopefully ere sundown today and reach Dimrill Dale by the next day." Fyarone said. "From there, we take the South-Eastern road down to Silverlode. If luck befalls us, then we should not meet anything or anyone along the way."  
  
"She is right," Felronn called from behind. "We must remain hidden in the thicket of the trees, lest we be seen."  
  
"Seen…seen by what?" Cyrinel asked.  
  
"There are orcs all around nowadays," Felronn replied, and he looked at his sister darkly. "Ever since the Ring left Lorien and was brought South." Cyrinel did not say anything. She had heard of orcs yes, foul, horrible creatures were they, loathsome and disgusting with not a single trace of the elven beauty of which they had been attempted to be copied from. She hated them with all her might, for it was they who had left her parent- less. So with all that she had heard and learnt about them, she did not wish to meet with these creatures along the way.  
  
Morning passed quickly, as the sun climbed steadily West, until it was no longer at their side, but now shining out of the trees in front of them. The landscape around them gradually changed too: trees lessened considerably, large bushes sprang out here and there, and the road became dusty and rockier. Mountains that used to be blocked from view by the gigantic cedars were now seen, silhouetted grandly against the grey sky in the distance. Sometime around midday, they stopped for a rest and a meal, by a small, softly trickling stream, before continuing further down South- Eastwards, crossing the Gladden Fields. They had passed no one luckily, and Cyrinel was glad. However, her relief turned to dismay when they passed a pile of burnt wood and ashes, along with a few broken bones lying in the dry earth.  
  
"Orc trails," Felronn said grimly. "We must linger here no longer. They are either ahead of us or behind. We are only a few miles away from Dimrill Dale. Let us ride on!" Hirvan the horse neighed, reared on his hind legs and galloped away Southwards, with Cirwan following ecstatically behind. The open fields passed quickly with the swift movements of the steeds as the sun descended to their right and slowly sank down the foggy horizon behind them. They reached Dimrill Dale ere sundown, the last golden rays beaming faintly in golden torrents from beneath the dull gray line in the north-east, marking the beginning of the Misty Mountains. Here, they camped for the night inside a small and shallow cave by the tributary of the river Anduin. Hardly daring to light a fire, they munched on crisp Lembas, and prepared themselves a bed of leaves to rest.  
  
Next morning, before the remnants of the stars and moon had faded into the morning light, they set off again, with the river as their guide, down to Silverlode. "We may reach Lorién ere sundown today." Fyaronë said. True, before sun even reached its highest point at midday, the trees had become numerous again, and the forests dense and cool. They came to a stop by the River of Silverlode for fresh air and clean water.  
  
"Do you know what is happening, Cyrinel? All around us…." Fyaronë asked, leaping off the horse. Cyrinel jumped off too and gazed into the distance before saying, "I know some things. The Ring is near its doom…."  
  
"But so we are as well…." Fyaronë finished, reaching down to the river to wash her long, beautiful hands. "Do not despair my friends," Felronn said gravely, stroking the silvery mane of his horse. "Lady Galadriel passed the test of the Ring….The Elves will prevail." He sighed, and shook his head slowly. "Come, we must hurry."  
  
The river eventually led them out of Silverlode and into Lorién at last. By sight, Cyrinel could tell the difference in beauty and in age. Trees were numerous, springing out here and there, its twisted branches reaching out to welcome them, its leaves swaying with the wind, smiling down upon their tired faces. In this vast and beautiful forest, the sky above them seemed distant, the sun was no longer seen but felt, its faint rays still managing to shine through the leaves in not gold—but in streaks of silvery light.  
  
"We are here at last. O Lorién!" Fyaronë sighed. Cyrinel closed her eyes and breathed in deep, taking in the wonder of the place who's beauty was truly overwhelming to behold. The horses slowed down and tossed their heads in recognition of the land they knew so well. Moments passed—how long, Cyrinel did not know, or rather, she did not keep count. Above the steady sound of her own breathing, she heard a soft murmuring of a stream, not far away. It seemed to be singing to her, filling the forest with wordless melodies, with the wind carrying her clear voice, the trees providing a tingling echo.  
  
"You hear it too?" Fyaronë asked softly.  
  
"Yes…." Cyrinel replied. "It is melodic to the ears and soothing to the heart…."  
  
Fyaronë laughed lightly and said, "Yes, you are not the first to praise the songs of the stream, Nimrodel. It has outlasted many generations and still, it sings with untiring voice."  
  
"Yes," Felronn said dreamily. "The Silvan-Elves of the Old made many songs of her long ago, when the days were not clouded by fear and anxiety. But we can still here her voice…"  
  
Cyrinel continued listening, and felt as if she were in a dream. After a moment, another voice of Fyaronë followed up and sang together :  
  
The Elven-Maiden Nimrodel,  
  
Named after the singing stream,  
  
We remember we who dwell,  
  
Her voice and her golden gleam.  
  
The twinkle in her bright blue eyes,  
  
The light upon her hair,  
  
Her nature both kind and wise,  
  
In Lorién the fair.  
  
She sang the songs of old and young,  
  
Her voice was clear and sweet,  
  
Her hair, a ring of leaves were wrung,  
  
Light and nimble were her feet…  
  
Wither does she wander then?  
  
None now can tell.  
  
Straying through the Land of Lorién?  
  
Past the stream of Nimrodel? ….  
  
Cyrinel hummed the melody to herself, unaware the time that passed—or perhaps time was forgotten in a land as fair and dreamy as Lorién. They journeyed down the forest, the Nimrodel's sweet voice now murmuring behind them and carried on deep into the heart of the forest Cyrinel had been in once before, onnly so long ago….  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Whew, that was difficult! I tried as best as possible to be completely accurate as to the names of places, landscapes, events, etc. And I hope you enjoyed the poem. It was not copied from the book, but the topic is the same, if you would look in Book 1. So….hope you liked that! Don't forget to review! 


	5. Many Meetings

1 Chapter 5 – Many Meetings  
  
Cyrinel did not know how long their journey was through the forests of Lothlorién—be it an hour, a day, or a week. All she kept track of was the amount of energy flowing inside her with every breath she took—energy of the trees, so old with wisdom, yet so alive with spirit, the entire magnitude of the woods itself was overwhelming to her soul, yet providing of strength to her heart. At length, she felt a gentle tug at her sleeve, and looked up to see the smiling face of Fyaronë.  
  
"We are nearing the City of the Galadhrim." She said, turning her head westwards and gazing through the gaps of the sinuos branches. "Haldir and Bethonir should be near now..." Cyrinel looked around expectantly but saw no one. What could be seen of the sky through the tops of the tallest trees was now a very dull orange color, changed abruptly upon the setting of the sun. Remnants of its golden beams lingered faithfully in small specks upon the ground, occasionally being over-shadowed by the swaying trees, as dusk slowly crept forth. Felronn came to a stop beside them, leapt lightly off his horse, and took from beneath his elven-cloak a small, delicate and carefully-carved, wooden whistle-like object. Cyrinel saw and recognized the beautiful elven characters engraved upon it, as he lifted it to his lips and blew. A sharp, clear note sounded, sweet and melodic to the ears. It rang in harmonious torrents throughout the woods, awakening it the more with its beautiful music. Felronn thrilled his fingers on the round keyholes, and the notes changed quickly into a higher octave.  
  
"What is he doing?" Cyrinel asked Fyaronë, watching Felronn attentively. "He is signaling the tree-elves at our arrival…" she replied in an audible whisper. "Watch…" True enough, only moments after the first 'signal', a reply came, echoing through the woods in a similar tone. "They are signaling us to pass. They recognize the password of the whistle, and they are are friends of Felronn, thus they permit us to enter. Had it been any other being, they should have to guide them, and even blindfold some upon reaching Lothlorién. It is their last duty for the day, they will be returning home by now." Fyaronë explained. A moment, later, Felronn blew a soft, low note in recognition of thanks, quickly and mounted his horse again.  
  
" We are permitted to pass." He announced. "Day is drawing to an end, therefore we must ride faster and attempt to reach the City of Galadhrim no later than moon waning, without further stops."  
  
They rode on quietly, until the dull orangey sky, slowly turned into dark purple, which then faded into light blue, marking the beginning of twilight. It was only then that Cyrinel noticed an abrubt change that hung stiffly over the forest. She closed her eyes trying to regain the sounds of nature, expecting to hear wind speaking softly to her, but there was none. All had rendered into a stifling silence. The trees abandoned their swaying dance, the leaves refused to give its friendly rustle, even soft songs of birds ceased to carry out its melodic tune; all became still and silent. Cyrinel frowned, and glanced at Fyaronë and Felronn, half-hoping that they had sensed the change as well. Indeed so, for an intent look had come upon their fair faces, and they urged the horses to slow down their pace.  
  
"Something is wrong isn't it?" Cyrinel asked, quiet voice not daring to break the sudden ringing silence.  
  
"Something is here that does not belong." Fyarone whispered back, squinting through the dark trees. "We must not speak."  
  
"Can there be orcs here?" she questioned again, in a lower whisper this time. "At such a stainless place?"  
  
Fyaronë sighed. "Orcs are foul creatures yes, and they are not welcome in these lands, but still they find trouble everywhere they go—even in the fairest of places."  
  
"But I do not understand—if the Fellowship has passed these borders, then why must they still linger?"  
  
"They have their dark reasons that is beyond our ideas…. I hear they are journeying southwards again, passing through the forests of Lothlorien-- yet we know not their evil plans. Now hush, and be on your guard…" Felronn rode up beside them, and Cyrinel saw that he had his bow and arrow ready in one hand, while occupying the other with the reigns for the horse. She loosened the Cernann in its sheath.  
  
They carried in this watchful way for some time, until darkness fell. No stars shone to guide them. Suddenly, the sound of heavy thuds reached Cyrinel and it was a moment before she realized it was actually the sound of galloping.  
  
"Orc-steeds!" Felronn said in a loud whisper, grabbing the reigns of his horse. "Follow me! Noro lim, Hirvan, noro lim!"  
  
Cirwan followed swiftly behind, but the noises behind them grew and already Cyrinel could hear voices above the fast beating of her heart. Suddenly, an arrow twanged through the air, missing her arms by an inch, followed by gruff shouting in a tongue unknown to her. "Unuk sarivak nza! There are Elves about!"  
  
Felronn turned and fired a clear shot through the night. There was a twang, followed by a muffled yell, then a heavy thud. In less than no time, arrows started criss-crossing through the air, its swift 'twangs' drowned by the rough, shouting voices from the orcs. Cirwan neighed in fright, rearing on her hind legs, and a black-feathered arrow flew and thrust into her leg. Cyrinel lost her balance and slipped helplessly off the back end of the horse, landing painfully on the ground. Vision slightly blurred, she got up quickly and upon drawing out her sword, she saw that Fyaronë had leapt off the injured horse and had come to her aid, with her brother behind, still shooting arrows tirelessly. A band of orcs soon emerged from the thicket of the trees, and she was finally able to behold their terrifying selves. Large and snarling, they grinned upon seeing three helpless elven-figures, baring their broken yellow teeth, and drawing out black, orc-made scimitars. Cyrinel counted with her eyes, and by glance she saw that they were outnumbered at least by 2 times.  
  
"We must fight…" Felronn said in calm resolution, as they formed a tight, back-to-back circle. "You do know how, don't you Cyrinel?"  
  
"I—I do, yes…. Quite alright at it…." She replied shakily. Fyaronë had drawn out two small, thin elven-made daggers, and Cyrinel saw that she was ready to tackle any orc-sword.  
  
"Well, two elf-maidens and one elf-warrior!" a particularly large orc said menacingly. He turned to his companions. "Vitakna Haishnu! Kill them all!" He shouted in command, and they advanced forth quickly. Felronn fired a few more worthy shots before drawing out his sword; Fyaronë had already gained victory over 2 orcs double her size. Cyrinel had only been battling hard in defense, the Cernnan bright and proud, shining steadfastly in the darkness, as she blocked stroke after stroke of the strong orc-blade. Finally, with a well-timed flick of her wrist, the black scimitar of the opponent flew out of his hands and landed on the ground, feet away. Cyrinel quickly slashed at him, but before the blade of the Cernann was thrust completely into its bulky self, a black, orc-arrow whistled venemously out of nowhere and hit her directly on her left arm.  
  
"Cyrinel!" Felronn yelled, and quickly, he came to her defense. With a swift, clean stroke of his elven-blade, he smited off the orc's head, and knelt down beside her. Cyrinel hastily plucked the arrow out of her shoulder before the poison gained its full venom inside her body, but already she felt the first dose of the poison fast-spreading, weakening her upper self, blurring her senses. Felronn carried her away behind a small bush, before returning to his sister. There Cyrinel lay, weak and unable. The last thing she saw before her foggy vision dissolved into a mass of grey, was the fighting figure of Fyaronë, bravely attempting to duel off two orcs at once, with Felronn hurridley retreating into a corner, taking out his elven-whistle again and blowing into it. The last thing she heard was the clear note sounding above all the clanking of swords, echoing deep into the heart of the woods, being their only hope for help….  
  
* * *  
  
// A figure, dark and undistinguishable, stands above millions of orcs, clad wholly in the foulest black, either marching forth to some unknown place, or sharpening their sword and axe blades in the blaze of black fire. Some unfamiliar tongue they were speaking or rather shouting to one another. Soon their babble dies down and a chant arises, getting louder and louder as they are marching forth. "Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg nimbatul, …."  
  
The sound was disturbing and unpleasant to the ears, but slowly it grew, until the pitch was so deep yet so very loud that it was if the grounds of all Middle-earth shook with its heart-stopping magnitude. Then, above the sheer might of the chanting rose another voice, deeper yet more terrible than any of the latter. "Khazad-vishnak nzu!, fight for the Ring!" yelled. "VISHNAK NZU! VISHNAK NZU!" //  
  
Cyrinel's eyes snapped open. Her breathing was quick and shallow, beads of cold sweat rested upon her brows, and a dull ache came somewhere along the crook of her left arm. 'Where am I?' she thought, sitting up suddenly, for she believed for a wild moment that she had been taken captive by the orcs. But that thought disappeared as quickly as it had come, as she sat on the soft, silverly linen and gazed around the bright, oval-shaped room—one that shared absolutely no likenesses with the dark, dreary disgusting lairs of the orcs. Still, remnants of the horrible nightmare lingered fresh in her mind: the orcs, the chanting, the…  
  
Cyrinel's eyes widened suddenly as she recalled the mention of the Ring. But her memory blurred, for the harder she tried to remember what had been said, the quicker the dream drifted away from her's mind's eye. She shook her head roughly, rubbed her eyes and looked around again. She saw that she was laying in a large white bed, with silverly, transparet drapes hung around it, and a small table beside. A opaque bowl was set upon it, fiilled with herbal medicines of leaves and flowers floating on the clear water. A sweet fragrance arose from it, and Cyrinel wondered how she could ever have had such a dream while it provided such fresh strength and cleanness.  
  
"You have awoken Cilanthiel." A very familiar said from somewhere behind her. Cyrinel spun around, just in time to see a tall figure, wearing a small pointed black hat, draw back the drapes and enter.  
  
"Grendalin!" She yelled in shock and joy, standing up. And true it was. Wise and unchanged (though Cyrinel noticed the grey hair beneath the hat had lightened considerably in color), no longer bent but tall and lean, the old witch smiled, eyes giving out its twinkle of intelligence once more, as they embraced, long and hard.  
  
"Where did y ou go Grendalin?" she questioned excitedly; and once she started, she could not stop. "How did you know I was here? What about the Ring? I dreamt of it you know, and I can't understand anything! Is there really a war? Am I in the City of Galadhrim? Who saved us from the orcs, what happened?" Grendalin laughed, and waved her hand dismissively.  
  
"If I had that many mouths to answer your questions Cilanthiel, you may go on as much as you like," she said wisely. "But unfortunately I haven't, so you must wait and forgive the old witch's slow uptake, upon slowing down yourself!" Grendalin sat down next to Cyrinel on the bed, and continued, "First of all, you must lie and calm yourself, girl!" Cyrinel reluctantly sank back into the soft pillows and turned her head back to Grendalin, waiting for her to carry on. With a happy sigh, she continued,  
  
"Yes you are in the City of the Trees. You are precisely inside the guest chamber of the Lady Galadriel, on the topmost floor of the *talan * and the Lady herself has come to visit you quite a few times. Fyaronë and Felronn are injured in the slightest and you need not worry about them."  
  
"But what about you? Where were *you *?" Cyrinel cut in, impatiently. "What's going on really?"  
  
Grendalin sighed once again, this time losing its happy air. "I journeyed East to meet with the Wizard Council, they pronounced me Grendalin the Grey. Gandalf is now the White. Then I travelled South and met once with the remainder of the Company. Gandalf is not dead—"  
  
"Gandalf, as in your brother?" Cyrinel interupted again, most unwisely.  
  
"Yes." Grendalin replied with a rather dismissive tone and continued, "They bear bad news Cilanthiel. The Ring and its bearer are now beyond their helping. They have passed Helm's Deep and has met with the King of Rohan, and they are now preparing to travel onward to Isengard. The Ring is on its way towards Mordor, and we will need something greater than luck to bring it to its firey doom…." Grendalin trailed off and cast her gaze downwards. From the bright light, Cyrinel could see more lines etched upon her face, more signs of weariness, more hints of old age. Ignoring the changes and concentrating on being cheerful and questioning, she asked again,  
  
"When did you arrive then? Before the meeting with the orcs?"  
  
Grendalin looked up, and answered, "I arrived the night before yestereve, and was glad when I heard of your coming, for the Lady of the Wood is wise and has done the right thing. The orcs have passed and their bodies are cleared, and Fyronë and Felronn are both doing just fine, so you needn't worry on their behalf." And then, suddenly Grendalin smiled, erasing all the lines upon her face and making her look both young and beautiful again. She brushed a strand of black hair from Cyrinel's face, reached into the bowl of herbs, took out a large leaf and wiped her brow gently with it. It cleared her mind in a fast period of time, giving out a light smell of sweet mint, that was soothing to her heavy and inquiring head.  
  
"Rest Cilanthiel." Grendalin said softly. "Have some sleep and remove all thought from your mind til you are well. There is no need to worry now, for you are safe in the house of the Lady Galadriel." So with the kind, soft words of the old, tired witch, along with a small smile playing across her lips, Cyrinel sank back into a heavy and deep sleep, far better than her previous and thought and questioned no more.  
  
  
  
Authors Notes: This chapter contained a lot of information about what's going on, other than about Cyrinel's past, along with some action as well. ^_^ Still, I'd like to present my thanks to reviewers (you guys are wonderful; each review means lots lots lots lots to me * wipes a fake tear away and bursts out laughing *) So… back to the story. I promise this'll get more interesting and don't worry Cilanthiel/Cyrinel WILL eventually take part in events on the Ring though like I've said, she will not be joining the Fellowship (she MIGHT meet with them though, I'm still thinking on it). Oh and by the way, Cyrinel, Felronn and Fyaronë reach Lothlorién in less than a day (unlike the Fellowship in Book 1) because they're on horseback and their route is slightly different. Well, enough rambling on my part, just get reviewing! ^_~ 


	6. A New Chapter in Life

Chapter Six – A New Chapter in Life  
  
Disclaimer : I cannot believe I've forgotten the most crucial (yet pointless, for we all know that Tolkien's characters don't belong to anyone but him!) thing for this! Okay, so here goes. * bored tone * Characters of JRR Tolkien, being used in this story (you all know who THEY are) do not belong to me. I won't even have to mention those who do belong to me, so nevermind. ^_^  
  
By the aid of the elves, wise and all-knowing and the company of Grendalin, who watched over her daily, Cyrinel healed in a fast period of time, and was up and about in less than three days, as if awoken from a long, tireless sleep but finding herself yet remaining in a lovely dream, amidst the care of the elves and the surrounding prescense of nature. All her belongings were safe and hidden away, the Cernann, which had been cleaned and sheathed once more, and her mother's necklace. She asked about this and that, and wandered about hither and thither with renewed strength and curiousity. But still, she felt excluded—barred from the world outside that she longed to know about. Grendalin fed her hungry mind by telling her everything that went on: from the discovery of the Ring, to their travels, and to what would likely happen in the near future. But this was undesirable to Cyrinel, for she not only wanted to know about these things, she also wished to take part as well. All her life, the world to her was but a small cottage amidst trees where she learned of other places but never ventured thither. And now time had brought her to a most dangerous stage of all—dangerous but exciting and inviting to her colorful mind.  
  
"When will I see Galadriel?" she asked quite often, for nervous as she was in reckoning of their meeting, she could not help but feel a twinge of happy anticipation as well, for she had heard a great deal about this elven lady and did not doubt that she was beautiful, powerful, wise and kind, as Grendalin had told her many times before. "You shall come to see her during the Early Spring Gathering." The witch explained again and anon. "It will be held day after tomorrow."  
  
"But what is it for?"  
  
"A gather of all friends of the Lady and the Lord, be it old or new, from different parts of Middle Earth. However at this time, the number I doubt, would not be many…"  
  
Cyrinel questioned no more, but spent most of her time during the two days before 'Gathering' event, wandering aimlessly about the deep and dense forests; it wound around the City of the Trees, like a magnificent green and grey wreath, dark, dreamy but beautiful, decorated with clear blue ribbons of water, with the light golden color of the sun, reflected as bright silver upon the grey barks of the ample trees. There she walked, freely and mindlessly, taking notice of the trees and flowers she knew : the 'mellyrn' tree, entirly ladden with large buds, blossoming in welcoming of Spring, and the 'Elanor' and 'Niphredil', which she had only seen in pictures before but now witnessed their true beauty.  
  
So swiftly, the hours passed and the day of the 'Gathering' arrived. And before the Welcome Feast of the night began, Cyrinel had already been cleaned and dressed in the softest fabric, woven by the Wood Elves and blue- green in color, and finally she was able to wear the necklace of her mother. She was led by Grendalin alone, up the marble steps to the topmost floor of the * talan * and by the time they emerged into the large dining hall, she was breathless—not of exhaustion, but of wonder. On the sides of the high walls, with glittering elven carvings of stories long-forgotten, hung thousands of lamps, of which a silvery light escaped and in the center of the dome-shaped ceiling, there hung a large crystalline, candle-filled chandelier, simple and plain, but with natural beauty. A long table was set from one end of the chamber, all the way to the other, but no one was seated upon the carefully-carven chairs yet.  
  
"We will speak with the Lady herself first." Grendalin said, as they passed the Dining Hall, Cyrinel gazing all around in wonder, and they descended a few steps once more, with the natural growth of the tree upon which the wide  
  
* talan * was erected. Before they entered, Cyrinel had already heard the sweet singing voice of undoubtedly, Galadriel. They paused by the opening to the chamber and listened, not wanting to disrupt the clear, melodic music.  
  
The days were happy, the sun was bright,  
  
the moon was round and fair.  
  
The children played, the maidens sang,  
  
no devilry then were there.  
  
  
  
Wherefore then is the sun still shining,  
  
though no light kindles our heart ?  
  
Why then is the moon still waning ?  
  
Knowing of death from the start ?  
  
  
  
This forest I have known long and well,  
  
What has changed its form ?  
  
The lands have changed, where evil dwell,  
  
This land remains as born.  
  
  
  
The Elanor, the Niphredil,  
  
The wise and oldness of the trees.  
  
The continuos songs of the Nimrodel,  
  
The enduring rustles of leaves.  
  
  
  
What is different, but the sighing of wind   
  
For, It has lost its carefree air,  
  
What has changed, but the beautiful earth ?  
  
No orc-marks then were there.  
  
  
  
Still I live a life of awaiting,  
  
A life of living past.  
  
Awaiting the dreads and fears of men,  
  
While our Elven-heritage lasts.  
  
  
  
Her voice trailed off as they entered; and for the first time in her memory, Cyrinel beheld her graceful self. The Lady Galadriel was clad wholly in white, wearing a bright silver girdle, with long flowing golden hair, like ripples of soft sunshine that revealed no ageing. However her eyes, a bright hue of blue, deep but piercing, unveiled the wisdom and knowledge that only one who has spent more than a single lifetime on earth could attain. She stood alone by a large window that faced the gathering darkness of the forest below, and moved forward in a graceful and swift motion as they entered.  
  
"Mae govannen, nin mellyn." She said and her voice was full of wisdom, steady and clear, hardly any different from her melodic singing. Then, her eyes fell upon Cyrinel and held her long in her gaze. Grendalin bowed, and Cyrinel hastily did the same, taking the advantage to glance quickly away, away from the Lady's piercing eyes.  
  
"Meneg suilaid," Grendalin returned. "Many greetings, indeed."  
  
"Cilanthiel," Galadriel said, turning to Cyrinel and, continued in the Elven-tongue. "Long have I not seen you, and long since, the world has changed and you have both differed and remained as you were." Cyrinel, usually articulate and sharp-tongued, found no suitable reply to this, but asked in Elvish, "I beg your pardon my Lady, but why have I come here to Lothlorién? Is it not safe in the Eryn Fernathlië?" Galadriel did not answer immediately, but gazed intently upon her again and Cyrinel did not falter, but stared resolutely back. "You have many questions, young maiden." She finally said, as if her eyes had pierced Cyrinel's mind and heart so that all her thoughts were revealed nakedly. "Not all have the answers, but in time to come, your mind shall be filled with your heart's desires. You have undoubtedly been told of Middle- earth you are not yet come to perceive. Reasons are beyond reasoning or so they have become that way." She gave a small smile and lowered her voice and said, "But, do not summon the night, my friend. Dan, avo doltho morn, mellothril nin."  
  
And that ended their conversation, for at that moment, an elven maiden-in- waiting appeared at the door and bid them politely to attend to the feast. And so went the three, Galadriel, tall and beautiful and noble, Grendalin by her side, speaking to her in quiet voices, with Cyrinel following behind. The Dining Hall was by now nearly filled with guests: Wood Elves from the north, High-Elven folk from Rivendell, and even men from the East and West who have stopped by at Lorién on their journey South. As soon as Galadriel entered, everyone had stood up and each in his own way showed their sign of politeness, either bowing, or touching their shoulders, or raising their right hands. She smiled slightly in recognition of her guests, then led Cyrinel and Grendalin graciously to their seats, before going herself to the very end of the long table, where two high, silver chairs were erected, which upon one, seated Lord Celeborn of the City of the Trees, clad wholly in white as well. Cyrinel was seated next to two tall blonde elves that she saw to be very familiar; and indeed, when they turned their heads and looked her way, she saw that is was none other than Felronn and Fyaronë! They exchanged a brief wave for they had no time right then to speak, for at that moment, the whole chamber fell silent as the Lord rose to give a starting speech.  
  
"Guests of honour," he began raising his both hands in a welcoming manner and addressed each politely: "Men of the Westernesse and Easterlings, who have come hither, far from their lands and will continue to journey South to join the upcoming war, Wood Elves from the Ered Mithrin who remain steadfast and valiant in these days of Darkness, and High Elven folk from beyond the Eriador, who continue to aid us in our needs and help us in our troubles, though the reign of Sauron is nigh. And let us not forget the native elves of Lothlorién as well!" This was followed by a round of polite applause, and many raised their silver goblets. "I hereby thank you all for coming and though our number is few and many are missing, at this time of what would be history in years to come, may we continue to thrive in hope of withdrawing the veil of darkness that is nigh!"  
  
The Feast began. Spoons and forks clinked as dishes upon dishes of Elven delicacies were brought up, and the entire Hall soon dissolved into their own conversations. "I hope I find you well, Cyrinel?" Felronn asked immediately. Fyaronë nodded by his side. "It is hard not be well amidst such a lovely society." She replied, grinning. "Besides, Grendalin has been tending to me and telling me things, and the medicines of the elves are so very energizing." Felronn laughed lightly and said, "I am glad you enjoy it here in Lorién, for you will be staying here for quite some time." Cyrinel's smile slid slightly but she overlooked it and said,  
  
"These forests have become like home to me, and…and I will miss it very much but you see, I can't help but feel a * bit * of curiously and adventurous spirit for the world * beyond * my view." She glanced at Felronn and Fyaronë nervously, and saw that they smiled with understanding. "Yes, I understand verily," Fyaronë said. "Felronn and I are leaving Lorién once again tomorrow to ride down South to Rohan, to gather news from there, and lend a hand of Friendship on the Lady's behalf—"  
  
"Then mayn't I come along?" Cyrinel interuptted.  
  
Fyaronë laughed and said, "If you really are that desperate why not go with Grendalin? She is leaving ere sunrise on the morrow to the South – East again, but we are going different way—"  
  
"Grendalin – Grendalin is going again?" Cyrinel interupted once more. She felt rather angry the old witch did not tell her of such a thing, but along with the fury, she also felt anxiety for her safety and return. She turned her head and looked at her, and saw that she was engaged in a conversation with one of the Men of Westernesse she seemed to know. Fyaronë immediately saw that she had erred with her tongue and kept silent. Cyrinel did not demand explanation from the witch, for she already knew: Grendalin refrained from telling her simply because she wanted Cyrinel to be safe, safe at Lothlorién, safe from the rest of the world. She did not want to her worry on her behalf as well. But Cyrinel was not that easily able to rid. For the rest of the night, while others laughed and made merry and drank and ate, and discussed issues of Middle-Earth, she was silent in thought, pondering over her next action, mind already made up that she will not be locked up inside a dream, however beautiful it is, as Lothlorién.  
  
* * *  
  
The morning came on swift wings and verily, before the sun had climbed out from the East and before the first chirps of birds sounded through the light air of dawn, Grendalin had already gone –but so had Cyrinel. She had collected her treasurable belongings, the Cernann, her necklace and her old cloak, and was fast dashing down the stairs that descended from the * talan *; and at its bottom, near the * talan * of the Lady herself and there was Fyaronë and Felronn, preparing their horses for their journey, together with a small band of other elves, Cyrinel did not know. She ran up to them and quicky pulled the two away from the rest until they came behind a tree, out of sight. "I am coming with you," she said, staring at them both determindley, as if daring them to speak otherwise. Felronn chuckled at first, but then seeing the look on Cyrinel's face, he frowned. "What is the meaning of this? It is not safe for a young maiden to wander about these days, any longer. "  
  
"I am not young anymore," she snapped back. "And what is safety really, when I am going to have to meet danger eventually? Do you know, I am tired of being treated as one who has accomplished nothing but is known for the accomplishments of others, related." And her eyes softened and she stared at the leaf-fallen ground. "I want to see the world." Fyaronë came over and laid a hand upon her shoulder gently and said softly, "But you have not been permitted, dear."  
  
Cyrinel took a deep breath and said, "Is it not time for me to make decisions on my own? You may think I do not know what danger is, and that I am but a foolish girl apt for little adventures. Well, maybe I am." She lifted her head and said in a firm voice, "But why not learn and experience the truth through these adventures, than sit and wait and never learn but keep hoping?" Fyaronë glanced at her brother, and Cyrinel saw that it almost looked pleading.  
  
"It will not be long, before we return—one week at most." She said gently. "And remember how we used to feel when we were children?" Felronn sighed and looked upon Cyrinel and his features relaxed. "But the Lady Galadriel does not know." He said. "She shall come to know, and when she does, she shall come to understand." Fyaronë replied and smiled, for she knew that her brother had given in. "Fetch her Norvir," he said finally with a heavy sigh. "And we will be leaving fast, for the sun is already up. I will inform the rest."  
  
Cyrinel breathed a sigh of relief and of happiness and of anticipation. She knew not what the day would bring, nor days afterwards, but she had taken one step forward in the stair of Life and she was content.  
  
Authors Note: Well that's that. Finally, there's a twist in the story and something's happening! The elvish sentences used in this story were taken from a few websites dedicated to Sindarin and Quenya and if you're wondering about their meaning, here they are: "Mae govannem" = "Well met" , "Dan, avo doltho morn, mellothril nin" = "Do not summon the night, my friend". Well, I think that's the main ones. Don't forget to review! ^_^ 


	7. Isengard

Chapter 7 – Isengard  
  
A/N: FINALLY done with this. I have been so preoccupied with things like my other stories, homework, piano practice, homework, basketball, volleyball, badminton, and soccer practice, homework, and more homework!!! _ Anyways, I'm finished with this chapter so I guess I don't need to continue complaining. ^_^ Thank you sooooo much to T.H, the fantastic writer, for your constant encouragement (I can't wait to continue with your story!!), Kora too (!) for your wonderful kindness (I love your story! Continue!) Risque for your wonderful and encouraging reviews as well (I'm still reading your story, lovin it, and I'll try to keep up with you, so don't stop writing!), and of course Starlight, with all your kind words and your lovely writing (Keep it going, girl!) Thanks so much everyone, and since T.H. did something like this in her story, I figured I'd do the same, and give the credit you all deserve so much. ^.^  
  
  
  
Cyrinel looked from beneath her grey hood at the midday sky, as Felronn and the others drank from a nearby stream. The elves had travelled for two days already, Southwards to Fangorn, and then perhaps to Rohan. The land around them had grown less dense, mountains taking up most of their sight from the left. "How many days is it to Fangorn?" she asked Fyaronë who was beside her, gazing off into the foggy distance. "It shall be 3 days at most, if we do not meet any danger along the way." she answered, not turning her head. Cyrinel immediately sensed something wrong and studied her face carefully. "The war... it is beginning soon, is it not?" Cyrinel dared to ask. "Battle's have begun, and near is the time it shall form to be a war." Fyaronë replied, tearing her gaze from the sky and pulling the reigns of her horse. "Let us go. We must leave now."  
  
In the late evening, upon reaching the borders of Fangorn, they set up a camp just before the sun gave away completely. The heavy sky seemed to dawn upon them, and even amidst the trees, the air was stifling and a sense of foreboding lingered in the atmosphere. The elves spoke little, and when they did, they spoke in hushed voices. Cyrinel was tired and she longed to know where Grendalin was, and when they were going to reach Rohan, and the events occuring all around them. But she didn't question anyone, keeping silent in thought herself, as well. That night, she ate a few waffles of 'lembas', and dropped off to an uneasy sleep quickly—and even as she slept, her mind never rested.  
  
It seemed only a few hours before she woke again. Not by the questions that buzzed inside her painful head, but by loud noises: shouting, clanking of blades, and more shouting. She quickly grabbed her sword and hurried out the small tent. And what she saw nearly made her want to crawl back in again; an entire horde of orcs, all with black steeds and powerful weapons were running to and fro, shouting and swinging their swords, battling with bewildered elves, slashing their tents and destroying anything they saw. Felronn, was crying out orders for a retreat, being wounded at the side; and already, many elves were leaping onto their horses and galloping off to their safety.  
  
Cyrinel was confused. She drew out the Cernann and hurried behind a tree. Norvir was nowhere in sight. She ducked from bush to tree to boulder, scanning the camp for any sign of her assigned horse. Orcs ran here and there, merciless grins on their hideous faces, as they rampaged around, killing all that came in their way. Suddenly, a slit-like pair of yellow eyes turned towards her, catching the Cernann's shimmer in the darkness. An orc, smaller than the others lumbered forth, scimitar in hand. "A she- elf!" he yelled to his companion. "With a bright sword!" And soon enough, five or more orcs came running her way. Cyrinel panted, holding the Cernann firmly in her hands, eyes darting into the forest quickly to plan an escape; but even as she did so, she knew it would count as useless against her enemy. She would have to stand and fight, or perish in pursuit. The orcs reached her faster than she thought, and she gritted her teeth, and forced her knees not to shake and give way. Through the gaps of the trees, she saw that a few elves had been slain and most had left, and in a split second, she wondered what had become of Fyaronë. But her thoughts vanished quickly, as the orcs crashed into the trees in front of her.  
  
"It is but a maiden, Radbug!" A large one said. "I say, we kill her and proceed to Isengard as was our original plan!"  
  
Cyrinel narrowed her eyes and slashed at him with her sword, creating a gash in the orc's thick black mail. He drew out his own sword angrily, and was going to raise it above her when the smaller orc held out his arm. "Wait Guzlak-" he snarled. "Take a look at her sword." He made a grab for the Cernann, but Cyrinel leapt aside, hiding it from view.  
  
"So!" Guzlak said, baring his yellow teeth. "You won't show, eh?" He turned to the other orcs. "Take it from her!" The rest of the hideous creatures reached for her arms and forced it behind her painfully, twisting it so that the Cernann fell to the ground with a sharp clatter. She gritted her teeth, and kicked at them, in struggle. Guzlak picked it up and studied it, with Radbug peering over his shoulder. "It is not elven-made!" he exclaimed in wonder, fingering the foreign craftmenship of the Cernann. Then he turned back to Cyrinel, and spat out, "What is your name? Where do you come from? Why are you travelling with Elves?" Cyrinel made no reply, but narrowed her eyes. "Tell me girl, what is your name?" he repeated, this time in a kinder tone. She kept her mouth shut. "Shaz–ru!" he commanded the other orcs, and immediately they let go their hold on Cyrinel, and the feeling came to her arms again. He asked her name once more, and yet again, she remained stubbornly mute.  
  
"If you do not wish to tell, then we will just have to take you to Saruman himself!" Guzlak yelled, getting angry.  
  
"So what if you bring me to him?" Cyrinel spat, angrily. "Saruman is no longer the White! Gandalf holds more power than him, now." There were some murmuring at this, but Guzlak laughed loudly and shouted, "You shall see indeed when you *reach* Isengard! Now, keep quiet lest we should slice your tongue." He turned to the other orcs. "Bind her arms and legs, put her in the extra cart and tie it to a horse!" he commanded, sneering. "And raid the camp for any useful object!"  
  
So Cyrinel was bind and dumped mercilessly in a small cart with a foul stench, and was dragged by the large horse in front of her, on which Radbug sat. They had searched the camp, and much to Cyrinel's dismay, they had found the necklace of her mother, thus confirming Guzlak's beliefs, his will entirely bent to take her to Saruman himself, however many times she argued that the wizard was no longer in power. They travelled slowly westwards in the dark, and when finally the veil of night was drawn back to give way to morning, all were tired and the horses were thirsty and exhausted. Radbug ordered some orcs to journey on foot, forcing Cyrinel to her feet as well. She felt the forest more menacing than ever, and oft she would glance into the towering trees when strange eyes peered at her in the darkness—or whether it was just her own eyes that deceived her, she knew not. Her heart was heavy indeed, for in her many lessons with Grendalin, she had come to learn that many had fallen here and many more, would fall. As twilight drew on again, they neared the Fords, where cries of wolves pierced the hanging silence. Slopes ran down smoothly by the side of the Isen River and the road winded itself over and round the turf-banks to the River's edge. They camped there that night. Cyrinel was cold and hungry, for while the orcs talked to one another in racuos voices and ate, she sat still on the dry grass, thinking of some way to escape. Her stomach gurgled and complained, but she refused any food that the orcs threw at her.  
  
In the morning, they took off again, past the Nan Curinir, the Wizard's Vale, where the road grew broad and hard. Once or twice, Cyrinel thought she saw a flicker of movement in the distance, perhaps a moving tree? But shapes through the mist were hard to discern, and with her stumbling steps and unfocused mind, things could easily be mistaken for that in which they are not. But after a few more miles, Cyrinel saw that her eyes had not deceived her after all; in the distance large, tree-like shapes moved around, seemingly plungering the things round them. The orcs, she noticed, did not see what her elven-eyes perceived, thus she said nothing of it. They had ridden for some more miles when the highway widened even more, and no grass sprouted through the care-fully peiced stones. Suddenly, they came upon a tall black pillar, looming above them, with a large white hand erected on top, pointing northwards, undoubtedly to the Gate of Isengard. Cyrinel loathed the sight of it, and when she got nearer she saw that red flecks of what seemed to be blood were splattered on its fingertips, making her want to vomit in disgust.  
  
"The White Hand!" Radbug cried, triumph in his voice. "Onward to the Gate!" Cyrinel was forced along by Guzlak, as she stumbled in her steps, past the wide pools of foul water. But she felt no evil here now, and she knew not why, but the silence held a veiled hope to her. The orcs seemed no longer in doubt, for in the far mist, the brilliant but terrible tower of Orthanc stood, still tall, still menacing. But their foolish triumph prevailed no longer; suddenly, and without warning (though Cyrinel sensed it) a great noise erupted around them, like a thousand drums beating at once. "Hoom, hoom, hoom, hoom!" And out of the white mist, stepped a band of the largest creatures Cyrinel had seen. Immediately, she related them to the legendary creatures Grendalin told her about in tales of the past—ents they were called, with a thick, trunk-like body and green, leaf- like hair. She had always thought they were creatures gentle in bearing, however not in appearance, but right then, she knew she had been wrong. Their loud voices boomed out words she could not distinguish, as many more ents came crashing towards them. The orcs disbanded in fury, and Guzlak shouted out intructions that proved useless against these strong creatures. "HUM, HOOM, HOOM!" A particularly old-looking ent boomed, with an angry look on his brown face. Some orcs dropped their weapons in fear and scattered off in different directions and others shot a few arrows uselessly before joining their companions in flight as well.  
  
"Retreat! Retreat to the Gate!" Guzlak shouted in despair, running off frantically. A boulder hurled from the hands of an ent, crashed onto him, and he was dead in an instant. Cyrinel, scared as she was at these amazing yet deadly creatures, wasted no time in unbinding her arms. She ran swiftly behind a dry bush, kicking a fallen-dagger along with her, and proceeded to cutting off the thick black ropes that held her arms painfully together. She succeeded, and remained behind the bush until she made sure the ents had left. Her eyesight slid in and out of focus and her body swayed slightly, as she climbed out slowly out again. The ground was littered with only a few orc-bodies and many similar black scimitars. The horses had fled and no ents were in sight. She crept stealthily across the area, scanning the ground for any sign of the Cernann or her mother's necklace, but found neither of the two. Her head was dizzy, her vision blurred, and soon enough her knees gave way, and she fainted.  
  
* * *  
  
"Is she wounded?" came a bright voice that caused Cyrinel to stir. Her back was against soft fabric, and she realized her lips were not parched as they had been before.  
  
"She is not injured. Just weary with exhaustion." a second voice said gravely, and she felt a wet cloth dab at her forehead. Shaking off whatever fears that had entered her mind, she sat up; and the strangest sight came into view: a dark-haired man was kneeling beside her, two very small men were beside him, smoking on pipeweeds, a dwarf sat across, and a fair elf stood a few feet away. They were in a stone-hewn chamber, with a long table laden with all sorts of food, and small windows up high in the walls. The first thought that entered Cyrinel's mind was where she was. The strange room and abundant supplies were adequate to her belief that she was indeed in Orthanc, but the strange little group in front of her, made her believe otherwise. "Who are you?" Cyrinel demanded instead, standing up quickly. The dark-haired man, looked up with amused eyes, and said, "First off, we must ask who are *you* for if it hadn't been for the Rohirrim, you would have wilted right under the sun." Cyrinel frowned, and sat down again. "I would have been just fine." she snapped stubbornly. The elf came over swiftly and smiled at her. "Your tone is that of an elf." he said lightly in Elven-tongue. "My name is Legolas Greenleaf. Tell me young maiden, whence come you?"  
  
"You're Legolas?" Cyrinel sputtered out in disbelief, for she had heard that the Prince of Mirkwood had joined the Fellowship, and this undoubtedly was he. "Then – then, you must be Aragorn!" she continued in the Common Tongue, turning to the man, face turning a bright red color. "And you, you're Gimli the dwarf!" She turned to the dwarf.  
  
"And I'm Pippin Took!" the small halfling piped up, slightly dissapointed he had not been acknowledged. "Meriadoc, glad to be of acquaintance." the other said politely. She stared around, hardly daring to believe her luck, and asked excitedly, "But isn't Gandalf supposed to be here? And the Ring- Bearer, he's off to Mordor isn't he? And why are you all here—there are ents about right now and they're dangerous."  
  
"It was Gandalf who found you fainted away near the dark pools of Isengard. We were passing from Rohan hither, and luck has surely struck you well." Aragorn replied. "Right now, he is with the King of the Mark and the rest of the Riders to inspect the south gates of Isengard. And yes, the Ring- bearer is on his way. As for the ents, they are in league with us, so you need not worry." Then his tone changed, and he became sterner. He walked to the table, drew out a chair and indicated her to follow. The rest of the group seated themselves quickly in a small corner. "Now we have told you all that you aught to know, so you in turn, you must tell us why you are here, who you are, and from where you come." said Aragorn.  
  
So between a few bites of food and gulps of water, Cyrinel launched into a long explanation on how things came to be, while diversing the topic occassionally to ask a few questions and take a breath. When she was finished, everyone gazed at her in respect, except for the dwarf who had a few doubts. "Mithril?" he inquired gruffly. "A necklace of Mithril? Where do you come by such a thing, and where is it now?"  
  
"I told you," Cyrinel said, getting annoyed. "It was my mother's. The orcs took it, and It is not with me anymore!"  
  
"Wait!" Merry exclaimed suddenly, dropping his pipe and reaching into a large brown sack, for something. "Is this yours?" He held up the mithril necklace and it glinted in the sun, more beautiful than ever. "Treebeard found it when he got rid of the orcs, long with this," Here, he drew out the Cernann. It too, shimmered triumphantly. Cyrinel gave a startled cry and collected her items in amazement. "Thank you very much indeed, Mr. Meriadoc." she said. The halfling grinned and blushed in pleasure.  
  
Then the conversation changed to the subject of ents, with Pippin proudly explaining how he had cleverly stolen away from the orcs, and how they happened to come by Treebeard. Cyrinel did not understand half of what was being discussed, but she listened raptly all the same, without anymore interuptions on her part. She finally understood that the Ents were indeed helping them, destroying Isengard and all the devilry of Saruman. Indeed, she was content that in such a short span of days, she had witnessed so much, been through so much danger; but she also wondered how Grendalin was then, how Fyaronë and Felronn was—whether they were still alive, and how much longer it would be til she saw any of them again.  
  
  
  
A/N: Cyrinel DID meet with the Fellowship for a bit here, but like I keep saying, she isn't going to be joining them all throughout. I just thought it'd be interesting get them acquainted for the sake of Cyrinel's curiousty and happiness! ^_^ I've tried to be accurate in this chapter and I had to read some parts of Book II again, so I hope it's alright... 


	8. The Palantir

Chapter 8 – The Palantir  
  
A/N: Sorry if this took such a long while for me to post. Again, it was my "real-life" issues that's nagged at me every single darn day! ^_^ Oh and you know, I think I've been WAAAY too LOTR obsessed these days because when I was writing a pretend letter to someone for English, I wrote "...And my hobbits include reading, surfing the net, drawing..." Just a brief incident of my insane life, I thought I'd like to share. ^_^  
  
A few hours later, they passed through the ruined tunnel and stood atop heap of dangerous stones, to watch for the Riders in the gloomy atmosphere. The large rock of Orthanc jutted out of the brown distant land, with its many windows, its black color contrasting against the dullness of the wreckage all round. Cyrinel was surprised to see that all had indeed been plundered well : here and there, only filthy pools of water remained, like remnants of a great storm ; pillars that were once tall, were fallen into shattered peices upon the damp ground. Yet, a desolate feeling lingered in the air, along with a gloomy atmosphere. The mountains on their side overshadowed the land, and across the wasteland, a few pinpricks, indicating riders were galloping towards them. Legolas gave a cry of recognition, and they hurried down to meet them, following what was left of the road to the gate of Orthanc. Cyrinel combed her messy, black hair with her fingers and rearranged her cloak, as they slowly made their way past the cracked flag-stones to the bottom of Orthanc. The Riders saw them, and halted. Gandalf strode forward. At first, he didn't seem to take notice of the newcomer and proceeded to explaining on his meeting with Treebeard. Cyrinel stood awkwardly with the hobbits, glancing at the riders of Rohan, trying to figure which was their king. Finally, when Gandalf came to a brief stop, a tall and fair man from the Riders, rode forward to the wizard and looked down upon Cyrinel from his steed.  
  
"See here my friends," he said. "We have missed this fair maiden in our haste. I am Eomer, son of Eomund. Tell me young girl, whence come thee?"  
  
Cyrinel opened her mouth, but Aragorn strode to her side. "She has eluded orcs, and shall come with us until we find fit to leave her." Then he turned to Gandalf. "I believe she is one of Grendalin the Grey's keeping." A pensive look came upon the wizards face and he came up to Cyrinel. "Are you not Cilanthiel Runadenn?" Cyrinel nodded and looked into Gandalf's face. His and Grendalin's resemblance was great. "Do you know where she is now?" she dared to ask. "I have not met with her in more than three hundred years, if I remember correctly." Gandalf replied, with asigh. "Yet, I believe she shall be at Minas Tirith ere we arrive."  
  
Then, a thin, but majestic-looking old man rode forth, and his eyes glinted in the dull sun. Cyrinel did a hasty bow in Elven-fashion as she was taught, knowing instinctively that this was the King of Rohan, not by his fancier clothing or long golden sword at his scabbard, but by the familiar blaze in his light eyes and manner on which he sat upon his horse. "Rise, my friend." he said, and his voice was strong and clear. "I see that you bear the necklace of Janéthalya Vilwa of the Elder Race, one that I have learnt in Foreign Lores at childhood. You have naught to fear of us." he smiled and Cyrinel looked up and presented her appreciation, with much gladness.  
  
"Pardon me, but interested as I am in this matter of our new friend," Gandalf said, looking up at the sky. "I must carry on now with my business, for the day draws to an end." His face grew graver. "Now is come the time where I must pay Saruman a fare-well visit. It may be dangerous, or even useless but I am afraid, it must be done. You may come to your own will, but beware and do not jest." Gimli strode forward stoutly and declared to go. Cyrinel felt restless, as King Théoden announced to follow as well, with some of his men. Aragorn was to go with Gandalf, as Legolas with Gimli.  
  
They were already making their way to the gate when Cyrinel hurried after. Gandalf and Théoden, looked down upon her and laughed, amusedly. "What do you think you are doing, Lady Cilanthiel of the Elder Race?" Théoden asked. "Coming along, of course." Cyrinel replied with as much respect as she could, when being laughed upon. Théoden chanced a questioning glance at Gandalf, and then said to Cyrinel in a kind tone, "Young girl, I suggest you stay with Merry and Pippin and rest whilst you may. Orthanc may be great, but it is not a place where you would go forth to, and then walk away with pride. Nor is a traitor like Saruman."  
  
Cyrinel mumbled something, then proceeded to a respectful bow. "Oh don't mind them." Merry said, when she returned to them. "We've been unwanted more often than that, and we should have to endure alot more of it, I suppose."  
  
"Half a sticky mile from here to the gate!" Pippin muttered. ( – The Two Towers, page 210 for Del Rey fantasy books like mine) "What did we come for? We are not wanted."  
  
But Cyrinel's mind was already set on an idea—and once it was, she was stubborn to let it go. "I don't care if I am not wanted or not." she declared and stood up once more. "I'm going to get a glimpse of that treacherous wizard, whether they like it or not. What harm can that inflect? I'll just have to try to find another way into the Tower." And with that, she sprinted off to the left, skirting large rocks and mud puddles. She knew not where she was going, but the sight of the tower led her and the more she looked at it, the more she felt she needed to get there. The power of Saruman was indeed strong. Finally, she came to its rocky foot, where dried puddles sprang, and black rocks jutted out of the dusty ground. The tower loomed over her and she felt small and over shadowed and powerless. She went warily to one side to find a way to enter, and found a small, wooden door, hardly seen by its many rocks and branches barring it. She kicked the rocks aside and threw off the branches, and crawled through the tiny opening. And once she got in, she saw that the inside was much larger than what it seemed. A still silence rang about the black walls and sleepy sort of magic clouded the air. Long flights of elegant stairs ran up to higher stories and white marble pillars rose here and there, with carefully-done black carvings engraved onto them. She took a step forward, her footfall echoing hollowly upon the stairs, and walked catiously up to the first landing, hand upon her sword hilt. The room seemed empty and silent, papers scattered everywhere—books and rolls of parchment. But what caught Cyrinel's attention was a large, spherical rock, perched mysteriously upon a raised stand. It was crystal-like, but black, with a dark core of red. She knew immediately (though she knew not how) that this was indeed one of those mighty palantirs: the ones that belonged to Elendil and the peoples of ancient times, and definitely not to Saruman, the traitor. Whether it was rightfully hers, she knew not, but she felt an urge to retrieve it and take it away from Orthanc. Its overwhelming power lured her forward, along with her curiousity. She reached out her hand mechanically—but a voice from behind stopped her.  
  
"Who are you?" it said. She spun around quickly and reached for the handle of her sword. A tall, but slouching man appeared from the stair landing, and looked at her through his heavy-lidded eyes with a mixture of fear and suspicion. "Another one of the Riders?" and his voice quivered.  
  
"I am not." Cyrinel replied, eyeing him dubioiusly. "Who are you? Are you also not one of the Riders, for you have a familiar air about your face, though you manner of speech judges otherwise." A relief swept over his face, but he edged closer to the round object. "You have come along with them, have you not?" he demanded, standing in front of her, blocking the object. She stepped back. "Where are they?" she asked, in return. "Speaking with Saruman." he replied coolly, through his thin-lips, though Cyrinel saw the fear in his eyes increase. "Go now, lest I kill you for I have no mercy in strangers."  
  
"I will go when I wish." Cyrinel said, through her teeth. "Do not try to hide the Palantir from me, for It does not rightfully belong to you." His eyes flashed at the mention of the Palantir, and with a quick unexpected motion, he drew a small dagger and lunged forth. "Leave stranger, leave the Palantir and Orthanc to be!" he yelled, and lashed at her. Cyrinel dove aside and blocked the simple aim, wondering what had sparked up the odd man's temper. With a easy flick of her wrist, the dagger flew from his hand and landed a few feet away. With a resolution in mind, she rushed to the Palantir, and grabbed it, finding it lighter than she had thought. And immediately, as she did, the urge to look into it grew stronger, but she forcefully resisted it. The heavy-lidded man shrieked and lunged forward once again, trying to make a grab for the Palantir. She could have easily killed him, but Cyrinel found no reason to kill a violent stranger, when she believed she could ellude him, anyways. She ran from the room, but a heavy book flew from behind and hit her spine, causing her to stumble and fall. The palantir rolled out of her arms and the man ran after it. She got up quickly and finally drew out her sword.  
  
"I swear I will kill you." She said firmly, directing its point to his chest. Cyrinel did not know why she was so firm on retrieving the Palantir, but she felt it an obligation to it and she felt she would need to accomplish something to prove herself-and this was it. The man looked at the sword and began to whimper, mumbling words Cyrinel could not distinguish properly. She reached for the Palantir, but upon doing so— his head snapped up again, he raised the Palantir. Cyrinel jumped up for it—her fingers brushed the smooth texture of the stone, but with a violent twist, he threw the palantir out the window, with an dreadful cry. Cyrinel yelled, grabbed her sword, without a second disapproving glance at the aghast man and rushed down the stairs after it.  
  
"Where, where is the Palantir?" she cried breathlessly, upon reaching the Gandalf, the hobbits, and the others. They looked relieved from great anguish and a twinkle shone in Gandalf's eyes. "Right here!" Pippin said brightly, holding up the black stone to the light with a proud air. Cyrinel breathed, as Gandalf took it from the hobbit. "I will take care of this," he said, but looked at it with wonder and fear. Then he turned to Cyrinel, and asked in a stern voice, "Were you not told to remain with the hobbits?"  
  
"Well, yes." she replied, casting her gaze down. "You could have gotten killed there Cilanthiel," Gandalf continued, but his expression lightened. "But all is well now, and while you are with us, I suggest you follow instructions lest you meet greater danger." So, they turned their backs on the down-fallen Orthanc and made their way down. Cyrinel was spared a horse while Legolas walked just as swiftly on ground, as to his own comfort. The Riders shouted in joy and praised their King, and sang for Gandalf. They left the road to meet with the Ents, and found that all was well with them.  
  
It was after the sun had gone down in the far West, that they set out again from Isengard. The soft slopes from the mountains reached down to meet them, when finally they slowed down their pace to find a camp for the night. The waxing moon filled the night with a newborn radiance of silvery light and the Isen flowed peacefully in its stony bed. But Cyrinel felt troubled again, and rode up to Gandalf. Pippin was nodding beneath his cloak. "The Palantir," she said. "Is that the one my father owned?"  
  
"No not that, Cilanthiel Runadenn." he replied. "That is indeed from the Treasury of Elendil, placed here by the Kings of Gondor, but it is not yours. I knew your heritage well. Your great-grandfather, Danéthion, did not wish to possess the Palantir, and so kept it hidden away with the Wood Elves of the North. It is in their keeping now." He looked down at Cyrinel from his bushy eyebrows. "But you are not ready to handle the Palantir yet, and you yourself know so." Cyrinel nodded with a soft "Yes, I suppose". Finally, they halted and prepared a camp beneath the thornbushes upon the low banks. Cyrinel felt sleepy, but still curious about the Palantir, so she lay, arms behind her head, on the soft grassy ground, staring up at the star-lit sky. Merry and Pippin were a few feet away, and Cyrinel heard the latter toss and turn recklessly in his sleep. And finally, as if a solution to Pippin's own restlessness, he got up in the dark, chilly night and crept forth to Gandalf. Cyrinel sat up slowly and withdrew her blankets; she knew what the young hobbit intended to do, and had half-mind to stop him—had it not been for her own curiousity. Pippin bent over the motionless wizard, harding daring to draw a breath—Cyrinel crept noiselessly behind a thornbush to keep watch. Pippin lifted the light bundle carefully and unwrapped the clothes; then suddenly, as if an idea came into his mind, he tip-toed a few feet away and came back with a large stone and placed it inside the sack—in turn of the Palantir. Dark and unheeding of the moonlight around it, Cyrinel saw it glint in the night with its own light, as Pippin carried it to a green hillock and Gandalf stirred slightly in his sleep. She fidgeted as well, her own conscience reminding her of what should be done—what was up to her to do. She got up slowly, but Pippin was already staring greedily into its dark depths. Cyrinel moved forth—he took no notice—and watched, intrigued. He bent closer and closer, so that the Palantir blocked his view of all else; and a fire rose inside it, now dim, now sparkling. Closer, closer... Cyrinel saw his lips move rigidly, with no sound—and making up her mind, she leapt forward. At the same time, Pippin let out a piercing cry and fell back and lay still. The guards stirred, Gandalf awoke, the entire camp rushed forth to the motionless hobbit on the green hillock. Cyrinel hurried forward and grabbed Gandalf's arm, as he knelt by Pippin and placed his hands on his brow.  
  
"Please," she said pleadingly. "I am sorry. I was watching and I failed to prevent him." At the same moment, Pippin's eyes closed and snapped opened again, and he cried out in bewilderment, staring at all the faces around him. "It is not for you Saruman!" He shrieked. He yelled some more senseless words Cyrinel did not understand, shrinking away from all the eyes fixed upon him. But Gandalf held him firmly, but gently. "Peregrin Took, come back!" (--Page 219) He commanded.  
  
"Gandalf!" cried the little hobbit, and he relaxed. Cyrinel looked into his eyes and saw remnants of fear, taken over by peacefullness once more. "Gandalf! Forgive me! Forgive me Gandalf!"  
  
"It is not your fault Pippin." Cyrinel said quietly. "I saw you but merely watched, and failed to stop this from occuring."  
  
"It cannot be helped now, my friend." Gandalf said and turned back to Pippin. "Tell me Peregrin Took, what did you see?" Cyrinel drew her breath, and waited, listening intently. "I...I," he began shakily. "I saw a dark sky, and tall battlements. And tiny stars. It seemed very far away and long ago, and yet hard and clear. Then the stars went in and out, they were cut off by things with wings. Very big, I think, really; but in the glass they looked like bats wheeling around the tower. I thought there were nine of them. One began to fly straight towards me, getting bigger and bigger. It had a horrible—no no! I can't say. I tried to get away because I thought it would fly out; but when it had covered all the globe, it disappeared. Then he came. He did not speak so that I could hear words. He just looked and I understood." (— The Two Tower, Page 219) Cyrinel shut her eyes with horror as Pippin continued. The realization of how terrible a palantir would be sunk into her head and she was glad she did not have to handle such a dangerous object. Pippin ended his account and Gandalf carried him off to bed, with Merry by his side. Later that night, the Palantir was presented to Aragorn, the rightful bearer and finally, the hour was come where they had to part. Théoden took along ten of his men on horses along with Aragorn and the others, while Gandalf rode with Pippin upon Shadowfax. Cyrinel knew not whom to follow.  
  
"Go Cilanthiel, with Gandalf." Aragorn said kindly, laying a hand upon her shoulder. "This has been a short meeting, but may we cross paths again in the future and then the times shall be happier." Shadowfax allowed Cyrinel upon its strong back willingly, light as she was and made no complaint. Pippin lay curled beneath's Gandalf's cloak, and Cyrinel sat comfortably behind him. "Away now Shadowfax!" Gandalf yelled. "Run as you have never run before!" The great white horse tossed his mighty head in the night, reared and galloped off, soft hooves hardly touching the damp earth, night rushing over him in great torrents.  
  
  
  
A/N: I know this chapter kind of forms another view on the chapter "the Voice of Saruman". In the book, Gandalf suspects Wormtongue to have thrown it out the window as a sign for hatred or annoyance, or whatever. But I just felt like creating another side that Wormtongue would WANT the palantir for himself, since Saruman is down, and he merely chucked it out the window because Cyrinel would have gotten it otherwise, so he didn't really have choice. I hope it sounds reasonable enough, and I just want to say that I am NOT trying to contradict any of Tolkien's characters, just forming another point of view through an innocent fan-fic. ^_^ Alot of these quotes also came from the Book and I referred to it, as I should so they don't belong to me! Hehe, I'm so sorry for the long author's notes, but its become a habbit, I think... 


	9. "Morgoth Leithiannen"

A/N: Ooooookay. *launches into a series of excuses for late update* The main thing was, that I was in China the past month, and there, the internet was extremely slow, I didn't have any of my LOTR books with me, and when I got back, I had many MORE things to do. I'll spare you of all the details. Oh well, I hope people are still with me. The War and seige will be in the next few chapters, and Cyrinel WILL take part, only it wouldn't be as cool and romantic as she thought. In fact, she finds out that reality really isn't a very pleasant place. But she does meet a.friend. Yes, a very very good one. Okay, I'm spoiling it here. -_-; Just read okay?!  
  
My writing might slack a bit, because I haven't been doing this for a looooong time. Please excuse it.  
  
Chapter 9 - "Morgoth Leithiannen"  
  
Cyrinel did not know what stirred her awake. The air was cool on her face, and Shadowfax's hooves were soft upon the ground. All around them lay a silence of dawn, a silence that was not peaceful and calm, but intriguing and excitable. Cyrinel, still clutching the back of Gandalf's cloak, looked about her. The scenery was indeed unfamiliar to unaccustomed eyes: great mists rose heavily in the east, veiling whatever secrets the shadows held, mountains in the West stood grandly, bathed in the first drop of morning sun. Tthe White Mountains, the dark Milloduin, the valley's in the distance, the rivers running forth-it was difficult to imagine all these would be in the hands of the Enemy if the One Ring was returned to Sauron's hands.  
  
"We have reached the Land of Gondor." Said Gandalf grimly, back still turned. Pippin was already roused and gaping at the Guarded City, as its looming walls passed by. "Yes, I can see. Grendalin is there, is she?" "We will see."  
  
They rode through the Great Gate of the Men of Gondor, its iron doors rolling back in their presence, and men called out Gandalf's name in voices of plead and anguish. Cyrinel caught the words "the storm is nigh" and pondered over it. "I have ridden on its wings." Said Gandalf. "I must come to Denethor, while his stewardship lasts. But, I must rid this elf-maiden first before we deal with such matters. Where is Echuiglamor?" *Shadow of the forest?* Cyrinel wondered. *What a name to call dear Grendalin*.  
  
Another commotion broke out, and Cyrinel heard snatches of "Forest Shadow", "the witch?" among their babble of talk. Then, a middle-aged, dark-haired guard stepped forward, and said in a clear voice, "Echuiglamor arrived 2 days ago, if I am not mistaken. She bears ill news indeed." "Spare me the news, but take this maiden to her." Was Gandalf's quick reply. "I have business here, Mithrandir, and my job is to guard the gates at this time. I will send my son Alesivor."  
  
Gandalf looked at Cyrinel, and she noticed his eyes were very much similar to Grendalin's, so wise, so weary, so aged with the many years. "Go Cilanthiel. Our acquaintance was short, but we will cross-paths undoubtedly very, very soon. I have matters to deal with, we shall meet here again. Go." "Good-bye!" Pippin called. Cyrinel smiled and climbed off Shadowfax carefully and turned to Gandalf, Alesivor behind her. "Thank you very much, Gandalf. And you Pippin." Without wasting a further moment, Gandalf cantered off with the hobbit.  
  
The son of the guard was already there, looking slightly confused, but still with an air of arrogance. The guard turned to Cyrinel, and said kindly, "May I know your name?" "Cyrinel," she replied impatiently. She wanted to see Grendalin, she wanted to know about the war, she wanted to know the danger, she wanted. well, truth be said, she wanted to live with reality. "Very well, Lady Cyrinel. My son will lead the way. I am off to duties now. Times are indeed dark" He added in a mutter, as he bowed and walked away, leaving Cyrinel with a complete stranger in the city of Minas Tirith.  
  
"Well? Let's go." She said, turning to Alessivor, seeing him for the first time. She saw a light very familiar in his deep blue eyes, full of pride, yearn for adventure, loneliness-and, and then she realized that the same light might be existent her own eyes, the way he stared at her back with a tacit understanding. They both overlooked it immediately, young as they were.  
  
"Yes we shall go." Alessivor said, and whistled lowly. A black horse canted over to him, waiting for him to mount. "It would be faster by horse. Echuiglamor's dwelling is in the lodgings of the Citadel." He arranged the saddle, climbed swiftly on, and reached a hand down to Cyrinel. "Do you need help?" She replied by mounting swiftly herself to a position behind him, with a small smile.  
  
Cyrinel gazed in wonder about her, as they passed through all the levels and gates of Minas Tirith, as Alesivor explained to her. "Have you ever been here before?" he asked over his shoulder. "No. Isn't that evident?" "I suppose so. Elves rarely cross their borders anymore, Echuiglamor and Mithrandir are an acceptance of course. How old are you? I hear Elves can live to thousands of years." "Well, they do start their lives at some point don't they? I'm only 14. And half-elf, at that. And I doubt my age would make a difference much." "How so?" "Because all my life I've been cooped up in a forest, and I had no idea Middle Earth could be so vast." Alesivor laughed, a bitter laugh Cyrinel noted. "Then our situation wouldn't vary much. I'm 16 and until now, I've never even witnessed a war, never been beyond Anorien. Only training my skill with the weaponry, and all that sort of things. Gondor isn't a very exciting place if you've been here all your life. Certainly, I'm very proud of my heritage and Minas Tirith too, and I'm going to become a Guard of Gondor when I grow up like my father, but." he trailed off, lost for words. "You get enough of everything around you, and nothing of anything beyond you." Cyrinel finished with a soft, faraway voice she hardly used. Alesivor turned and faced her, with amazement in his eyes. "Yes, that is very true. The way you put it seems so very simple." he said with a sigh. Cyrinel did not reply for a moment, but watched the courts and houses go by, with fair writings of ancient scripts engraved over their intricate gates. "I suppose we do have something in common." She finally said. Then, she tilted her head as if a thought came into it. "Alessivor, do you know much about what is going on? I mean, the forces of Mordor and the dark enemy and, and." she trailed off, for her own knowledge was minimal. "Oh yes, I do. Father's told me all about it. The Lord of Lossarnach, Forlong shall come with thousands of men, the Prince of Dol Amroth, the Rohirrim too." Then a cold, contemptuous look with tiny barely- distinguishable flecks of fear came into his eyes. "Morgoth Leithiannen." He whispered, half to himself. "Morgoth Leithiannen?" "Yes, the Dark Enemy is released. The phrase is being passed everywhere. Orcs, and winged Nazgul-I have never met one, but they say that its presence can be felt like pricks of ice on your skin." Cyrinel suddenly remembered the wave of coldness that fell upon her, a few days before Felronn came to retrieve her. She shuddered. "Will you be fighting as well?" she asked. "I do not know yet. After all, there might not be such a big war-the plan of the foe is unbeknownst to anyone save he, you know."  
  
They had reached the 7th gate, the farthest and with many turns and paths from all the other gates leading into it. Alessivor dismounted, for horses are not allowed in the Citadel. "I believe Echuiglamor is kept in one of the special lodgings." he said, as Cyrinel climbed off. He led her past a old dead tree, with withered and cracked leaves, standing out with much contrast against all the other well-tended things around. Cyrinel looked at it and saw that it was the dead memory of the White Tree, and her heart grew heavy. They walked down a sloping hill where a few lodgings stood. Happiness rushed in Cyrinel's ears, and she wanted to leap down and bury herself in Grendalin's strong embrace and know about everything the old witch knew. But first she had to bid farewell to Alessivor, for who knows? She might never see him again. She shuddered at the thought. "I have to be going now, Lady Cyrinel." Alesivor said turning to her. "I have many duties at the Great Gate and father shall be expecting me. I believe Echuiglamor's lodging is the last one to the right." Cyrinel flushed at the formal title of "Lady" given to one so inexperienced as herself, but was pleased all the same. "Yes thank you very much Alesivor. We shall meet again will we?" "Of course. I'm always here to care for the horses. And you may come with me if you like, to take a look at the city and also when good old Forlong comes with his men, along with the other allies." "That is wonderful!" Cyrinel said, for she was happy she had found a friend, who didn't belittle her and who shared her thoughts and feelings as well.  
  
Cyrinel could hardly sustain her gladness anymore as she reached the wooden door of Grendalin's lodging, so glad was she to return to one she knew so well again, for Grendalin was more than a guardian, and they who have spent 14 years unparted, have been separated for weeks and so much has happened to the both of them, since then. Cyrinel had finally gotten a glimpse of "outside world", eluded deathly orcs, gotten acquainted with the Fellowship, but, like a newly sprouted tree exposed to the sunshine at last, it cannot withstand the rain and storm on its own yet. And so it was with Cyrinel, though she failed to notice it.  
  
"Echuiglamor?" she called, figuring to use the name people called her here as a bit of a joke. She pushed the door softly open. "Please," replied a gruff and pressured voice, which to Cyrinel's surprise, belonged to the loving, old Grendalin. "I am in the middle of supper, if either Denethor or Gandalf wishes to see me, then I shall go them afterwards." Cyrinel resisted the urge to cry out "but it is me Grendalin!" and stepped a few feet into the shadows. Grendalin, seated on her bed with the drapes drawn back, paid no attention. From the dim light of the room, Cyrinel saw how frail Grendalin looked, so weary was she who traveled through Middle-Earth! There were dark bags under her eyes, and by the pat of butter and slab of bread lying untouched beside her, it was clear that she hadn't eaten properly. Cyrinel's heart grew heavier, and she wondered what had happened to those days in the sunshine of Eryn Fernathlie, when she improved her Quenya and listened to stories told by her dear guardian. Finally, able to suppress her sadness no longer, she burst into the light, cried, "Grendalin, it is me, Grendalin!", and flung herself into the old witch's arms before she had time to say anything.  
  
"Cyrinel, my dear Cilanthiel Runadenn!" Grendalin did not shout with joy, but she spoke softly in a voice Cyrinel has never heard her use. "Whence come you? I heard about your departure with Felronn and the company of the elves, and I thought you were safe. But then I was told of their meeting with orcs, and my heart grew heavy once more." "I am safe, Grendalin. I met the Gandalf and-" "Is Gandalf here?" Grendalin interrupted. "Yes he is, but the Riders are not with him. The rest of the Fellowship and the men of Rohan I mean-but I think you should know more than I." "Yes," Grendalin murmured, ignoring the curious girl. "Yes, he has come to meet Denethor. The Lord has been expecting his company." Then she looked up suddenly at Cyrinel, as if just realizing that she had returned to her and managed a small smile. "I never thought one inexperienced as yourself would endure this much, Cilanthiel." She said, with a light sigh. "And would have to endure many, many more things, I believe." "What do you mean?" And right after, she wished she had never asked, because even before the words had left her lips, she already knew the answer she would receive; and it was more bitter, more frightening, more fearless when Grendalin said it. "Morgoth Leithiannen. The Dark Enemy is released."  
  
* * *  
  
When Cyrinel had come to Minas Tirith, she had thought Grendalin would soothe all her troubles, answer all her questions with such tactfulness that would make them seem silly, be the friend and teacher that she was in the days that are past. But now Cyrinel seemed to be dreaming in her reality. Every morning she would wake to unusual coldness and find Grendalin gone, without a word or note; and she would almost always go search for Alessivor amidst the busy city and do his duties with him. On the third day on her stay in Minas Tirith, Cyrinel found Alessivor once again tending the horses. Together, they strolled up into a tower where he usually did his duties and learned his lessons. There was a flat platform on top of it, used mainly for look-outs, and they sat there under the heavy stifling sky, looking out onto the gates and city below them. It was indeed a gloomy day, the clouds hung low but no rain or wind separated them. The fields of Pelennor were dry and murky, and the entire city seemed to be enveloped inside unending brown clouds of gloom. Cyrinel and Alessivor did not speak much, but sat in still silence, looking upon the dreary world before them. The watched the sun set in the distance, but no ray of sunshine parted the sky and everything became colder, but more stifling.  
  
"I wonder when the Riders of Rohan are going to arrive." Cyrinel said at last. "They will come, however late it is." Alessivor said not looking at her, but keeping his eyes locked to the foggy distance, as if expecting them to burst out of the gray mist at any minute. "The people are right, the storm is indeed nigh. And so near I could feel the coldness and hear the rumbles like thunder." "Well, I guess we asked for it." "Asked for *this*?" "I mean, we wanted something to happen. Something exciting and new, because this are well, boring. And now danger and war even, is laid out before us and we're afraid." Cyrinel paused and wondered where that had come from. Then she realized it came from her own common sense. "Afraid? You might be since you're only a girl, but the men of Gondor has been dealing with this sort of thing for centuries (of course, I haven't) and we might be short on men, but we are not afraid." Cyrinel did not hear the rest of the sentence, but only caught the words "you're only a girl".  
  
"I'm *only* a girl?" she said indignantly, standing up to show her whole height. "I've eluded orcs, I can duel as good as you I bet, and-" she seethed inwardly as she saw the amused look on Alessivor's fair face. "-and I'm challenging you to a duel." She finished, drawing out the Cerilann (she had brought it everywhere with her these days) and directing the tip to his white, long-sleeved shirt. "I can't fight you!" Alessivor said, pushing the blade away. "You're, you're a girl!" "Yes I am." Cyrinel said. "And you're worse than I thought if your sword- fighting skills are worse than a female's. Besides, we might need it and this is a good time to practice. At least we won't be lurking around, feeling gloomy anymore." "Just practice, then. Not a duel." Alessivor said with a exasperated sigh, stood up and drew out his own sword. "But I still might hurt you."  
  
Cyrinel grinned with satisfaction, as they crossed swords beneath the dull, twilight sky. "Vice-versa too, not to forget." She returned, and with a sharp clink of the two different blades, the 'practice' round started. At first, Alessivor tried to be gentle, blocking her strokes and not daring to advance on her, lest she should get hurt; but soon enough he realized that he had underestimated his opponent, for she was indeed skillful with the sword. Thus, grinning with approval, he started attacking as well, though his strokes were carefully dealt. Yes, beneath the dull sky the two dueled- people below the city would look up at them and mutter to themselves 'the storm is nigh, and they practice happily with their swords without a worry!'. But they carried on.  
  
"You're quite excellent you know," Alessivor commented, blocking a careful aim with ease. "For a girl." "Yes, for a girl." Cyrinel said breathlessly, as their swords met again and clanked. "I used to take-" A long, screeching wail echoed from the near distance cut her off mid-sentence. Suddenly, her blood ran cold and she could not feel the hilt of her sword in her hands. The two of them froze for a moment, as the scream subsided, the dreadful sound still ringing inside their ears. "What. what was that?" Cyrinel managed in a whisper. She stood rooted to the spot, sword still in hand, eyes unblinking. She saw that Alessivor had closed his eyes, and when she spoke, he opened them with an effort. He did not answer immediately but gathered his courage and went to the side of the tower to see beyond them. "So they have come at last!" He cried. "There are Nazgul pursuing them. Stay back Cyrinel, this is no sight for a girl. They are indeed fell things." Cyrinel made no witty reply, but hurried forth and bent over the tower. The Pelennor fields were in the distance and circling above it-now swooping down, now soaring ground-length, were at least five winged forms. Darker than the raven's feather, greater than the largest eagle, fiercer than any creature alive, it flew over and round one another, cruel as death. "Nazgul.Black Riders on wings." Cyrinel panted. Her eyes were glued to the soaring shapes, and as much as she wanted to look away and cover her eyes, she couldn't. Suddenly, another louder cry pierced the air, and her whole body trembled. Alessivor took her hand and held it tight. Along with the shuddering cry, came a clear ringing sound of trumpet, high and pleading. Alessivor let go her hands.  
  
"Lord Faramir!" He cried. "The Nazul-he needs help, quick!" He sprinted down the steps of the tower. Cyrinel sheathed her sword quickly and followed at a run. She knew not what was happening, all seemed like a blur of shapes and before she knew it, Alessivor and her were amongst the many people waiting anxiously at the Gate. They started cheering the names "Faramir" and "Mithrandir" and bewildered, she starting calling out their names as well. Presently, two horses trotted slowly up to the parting crowd. On one sat Gandalf, Cyrinel noticed, clad wholly in white, staff in hands, with a spent look about his weary body, on the other sat a dark- haired man she did not know. His head was bowed, and his face was pale but strong, and he swayed tiredly. "That is Lord Faramir," Alessivor whispered. "It is lucky he is not perished, good Faramir!" They pressed with the crowd as the two dismounted and walked in the direction of the Citadel. Cyrinel and Alessivor fell back and watched them go into the lofty halls of the Steward.  
  
"I will go now then." Cyrinel said presently, as the talk around them died away. "I am very tired and today has wearied my heart." "I'll come along, then." Alessivor said, and they begun heading back to the lodging. "This is only the beginning, Cyrinel," he said quietly. "I know that." She replied tiredly. Together they walked beneath the dark grey sky, quiet in their own thoughts, as day drew to an end and night fell.  
  
  
  
A/N: That's it for this chapter. Abrupt I know, but still. So. I thought things were getting a slight bit dry so I put up a new character. Like him? And I tried to make things seem more interesting with my own characs, instead of just having Cyrinel follow everyone around. I hope you enjoyed the sword-fighting bit. It was a little unserious considering the things occurring then, but I wanted to make things seem brighter. Or at least I wanted Cyrinel to make things seem brighter. *shrugs* Oh and don't worry, I won't make it all romantic with Cyrinel and Alessivor. Seriously, they're really young still, and they are very good friends, and it's just going to be weird if I make this into a love story. Haha. This did take a long time, and in the next chapter will be the Battle of the Pelennor Fields perhaps. Toodles! 


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